


Even Darkness Fades

by genagirl



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-09
Updated: 2013-09-09
Packaged: 2017-12-26 02:47:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 31,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/960666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genagirl/pseuds/genagirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim is haunted by childhood nightmares while he and Blair struggle to find children taken from their homes before it's too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Even Darkness Fades

Even Darkness Fades - gena 

Blair Sandburg rolled over in his narrow bed, slumber fading in the distance like some spectral guest, diaphanous garments trailing as it slips across a barren moor. His heart thumped madly, hammering against iron bands which seemed to have been forged and fitted in the middle of the night, encircling his chest and preventing him from drawing enough air. The hair on his nape prickled with dread, proof that some bony fingered thing had stroked that vulnerable spot, drying his throat to dust with the friction of blood pounding through his veins. Even the familiar haven of his bedroom had taken on a menacing air, he waited, certain that if he reached out at that moment something cold and putrid would brush his skin. Slowly, eyes adjusting, his surroundings congealed into the mundane; the crushing weight on his chest became benign text books, sinister shadows lurking in the corner resolved themselves into masks and pottery, the flickering blue/silver lights playing along his wall......He sat up, shoving books aside as he rose to pad silently to the open door, wondering exactly what had waken him. Only the ghostly light from the muted television screen lit the living room, leaving most of it in shadow, but intuition told him his partner needed him. 

Jim hadn't been feeling well. As far as Blair knew he hadn't slept a full night since the start of their current case and, for a man who loved to eat, he'd discovered a dozen creative excuses to explain his untouched plate. Blair was worried about him, worried that Jim's fragile hold on his world was slipping. Jim was no stranger to rough nights, a fact of life Blair had learned within the first weeks of moving in with him, but Sandburg had gotten use to those. If you could ever really get use to hearing your best friend utter a blood curdling shout followed by moans so sharp with pain they pierced your own heart. Jim's nightmares were almost always triggered by certain types of cases, certain types of people, and Blair had trained himself to see the warning signs. Many nights he went to bed knowing full well he'd be up in a few hours. When the dreams started Blair would quietly climb the stairs to his partner's loft bed and wake the detective as gently as possible. Jim's reaction varied little if any, he sat straight up in bed, breath catching roughly in his throat, after a second he would reach out to touch Blair's shoulder, sigh and drop back onto his pillows. The pattern repeated time after time and by the end of their first year together Blair realized he craved that hesitant touch. That touch seemed to ground Jim, to shut out whatever it was he saw when he closed his eyes and make everything okay again. For Blair, to be able to provide some measure of comfort to this man he had grown to admire and care for, it brought with it a feeling of such tender fulfillment he often wondered how he had survived before its bestowal. 

But something else was going on this time. True, it was a nasty case one which would have made him vigilantly stick to Jim's side anyway, watching for the clenched jaw, and brutal flashes of temper Jim displayed when upset. Cases which involved children as victims tore the big detective apart, and this one centered around a ten year old boy kidnapped from his bedroom right under his parent's noses. Blair had expected nightmares but not this listless stranger who had no stamina, no drive anymore. Jim was slowly being sucked dry by failure, it cut him deeply, leaving him wounded in a way Blair didn't know how to heal. The young anthropologist advanced into the living room, confused but drawn anyway by the same undercurrent of dread he always felt before one of Jim's bad nights started. 

"Sorry, Chief," Jim Ellison said from the shadowed confines of the couch, "did I wake you?" He lay sprawled on the cushions, bare legs propped on the coffee table, a bottle of beer resting on his muscled abdomen. Blair stepped closer, slightly unsettled by the ghostly images winking across the silent television screen, casting faces of long dead actors across the achingly familiar features of his partner. Jim's eyes rose to meet his and a tired smile bubbled to the blue surface, displacing the Hollywood spirits. Sandburg scraped his hair back and sat down on the opposite couch, heartened, as he knew Jim would have planned, by that smile. He was slightly surprised to find Ellison in front of the box, given that they had been the object of media attention for two days now. Jim's features could regularly be seen at six and ten as he fended off questions, one arm sweeping a clear path as he sometimes pushed, sometimes pulled Blair along. Sandburg had grown use to seeing the Cascade detective striding along and himself, hair flying, looking neither left nor right, following in his wake like a dinghy tied to a battleship. But what did others see? He looked at his partner now, trying to visualize what the average person on the street would but all he saw was the man he had come to respect and love. His concern for Ellison shaded every view he had of the man and right now Jim was a Technicolor worry. Seven days they had been following scant leads, knowing the longer this child was gone without a ransom demand being made, the greater their odds of not finding him at all. 

Looking into his partner's desolate eyes, Blair remembered fragments of the dream he been having the night this case began. In a bizarre version of Rainier's campus, he searched endlessly and in vain for something he couldn't even describe. Every time he neared his goal, it turned into something he neither needed nor wanted. When he woke, the same desperate lost feeling had followed him from sleep, sending him stumbling into the living room where he found Jim sitting in the dark. Jim had reluctantly admitted to a headache, but it "wasn't anything". His blue eyes were dulled, and he moved with the exaggerated care of one long intimate with pain and, having banished it, was not fool enough to believe it truly gone for good. Blair offered to make tea and was surprised when Jim agreed. They drank in silence, Jim wearily lifting his cup and avoiding Blair's gaze until he offered a gruff "goodnight" and climbed back to his room. Blair had gone back to his own, but that old bugaboo, worry, dragged him from its warmth a few hours later. The bond he felt with Jim wasn't anything he could explain, much less write down on paper, but instinctively he had climbed the stairs and stood beside his partner's bed watching Jim toss and turn. "Ssssh, it's all right," he had crooned over and over, "sleep and don't dream." The link, always visible between them, was never more evident than right at that moment. Jim had sighed, burrowing deeper into his blanket, the line between his brows smoothing under the protective watch of his guide. Blair, in turns awed and terrified by the power Jim granted him, stood vigil over his friend. 

They went on, frantically searching, knowing hope was fading and with it Jim seemed to change. Blair expected nervous energy, the angry need to do something, anything, even strike out at his partner. Those were the old knee-jerk reactions Ellison employed in times of stress. Sandburg had been waiting for the nightmares to start because those were familiar, easily combated by his own presence and relentless prodding. But Jim didn't wake shouting. Instead of anger and rage, Ellison paced the loft in the dark, wandering aimlessly, exhausted but unable to rest, powerless to explain why. Blair tried to help, but all he got were vague assurances it was just one of Jim's headaches and that already on the verge of fading. One night a strange sense of unease drove Blair from bed and he discovered his partner in the bathroom hunched over the toilet, throwing up the small portion of dinner he'd managed to persuade Jim to eat. Jim's senses, especially when he tired, could be upset by any number of things, but they were tied directly to his state of mind - a happy sentinel was the picture of good health. An unhappy sentinel suffered an array of symptoms - most of them manifesting in physical ways. Migraines were the most common but Blair had lost count of the times he'd come home to find his partner stoking a fire. Jim would fill the loft with flickering shadows and hickory scented heat in an effort to chase away the phantom chill which had him shivering. Over the years Sandburg had learned the subtle differences between his partner's emotional defenses collapsing and the flu. Though Jim's reluctance to talk slowed the process, eventually he'd succumbed to his guide's gentle voice and the hands which massaged his throbbing temples. "Is this about the case?" Blair had asked. Jim's reply, that short jerky nod of people afraid to speak, led to a night Blair knew he would remember all his life. 

Jim hated these cases, his sentinel instincts were strong but when children were involved it doubled the urgency, the drive he possessed to protect. Jim had been one of the first detective's called to the scene, he'd hung back, letting Blair work with the anguished family while he surveyed the setting. Twenty minutes later, Blair had found his partner, stone faced, staring at the boy's football trophies. Jim didn't say much of anything there at the station, or later, though he'd clearly been upset. Only that night, sprawled on the cold tile floor, sweating and pale, had he opened up as he often did when they were alone and he felt safe. Jim let Blair take care of him, clean him off and help him to his feet. Slowly, they made their way to the couch, Sandburg pulling Jim down beside him, tugging at him until Ellison lay on his side, head resting on Blair's thigh. Surprised, but pleased beyond words, Blair had encouraged his partner with only his hand in the short hair, stroking soothing circles until Jim shared some of the horror he carried around inside his memory. 

"I always seem to be telling you things I've never told anyone before," there was a slight tinge of wonder in Jim's voice. "It's like darkness falling, like losing yourself in the night. I can feel it coming closer and there's no place to hide." Blair traced the strong jaw, his touch granting the freedom of speech as Jim went on. "I remembered something I guess I've tried to forget. Years ago my team got dropped into Nicaragua. We were suppose to do a sweep of the area and report guerrilla movements." Blair stilled his hands, keeping them buried in Jim's short hair but trying not to distract from the painful story about to unfold. "When we got there, the whole place was deserted, not a living soul. It was like they'd been vaporized. Cookfires smoldered, smoke hung in the air, flies buzzed, but not a person in sight," a shudder ran through the strong body and Blair edged a hand under Ellison's shoulder, pulling him up so that Jim's back rested against his chest, knowing the sentinel could hear his heart beating and hoping it would somehow convey his support. The embrace bolstered Ellison, allowing him to continue, "I ordered a sweep. We searched the area and still found nothing. But later after we set up camp, I heard something," Jim's voice dropped, becoming a thread of sound Sandburg struggled to grasp, "it was like a hissing. I followed the sound until the stench dropped me to my knees. It was the gases from their bodies decomposing," Ellison gasped out. "I could feel my sight fading, something pitch black rose up in front of me, reaching out. It was a mass grave, Chief. They'd been shot, every last man, woman and child. Some of them babies." 

"Oh, god, Jim," Blair whispered. He lowered his face, cheek pressing hard against Jim's shoulder blade, wanting to absorb the pain he could hear in that ruined voice. His partner repressed things he could not face, things he would have had to bear alone, he was like a child in that respect - what children couldn't endure they forgot. But now, as with his sentinel abilities, the memories were coming back to Jim, wearing him down little by little. Blair tightened his grip, willingly sharing the nightmare his partner inhabited. Since finding Jim he'd never felt particularly strong, like he could protect anyone - until that moment. The bond forged by their sentinel/guide roles suffused all aspects of their life together making Blair realize with sickening certainty that part of Jim's returning memories must be connected to his senses coming back online. In a way, the awakening of his senses, his discovery of what he truly was brought the pain he now felt. A wave of horror rose in Blair's throat, holding his best friend there in the darkness, he endured the breaking of his own heart and swore he would sell his soul to protect Ellison. 

"I can't get the image out of my mind," Jim confessed. "I can hear that sound, Chief. It's still there inside my head." Ellison pressed both hands over his ears to block it out. Blair placed his own over those powerful fingers, crooning an endless litany, wanting nothing more than to keep the past at bay with the strength of his friendship. He didn't know how much time passed but the loft felt colder than the hollow inside his chest, and his trembling turned to shivering. Jim, ever protective, pulled himself free, urging Blair back to his own room. One time Blair might have gone, but not after three years of living beside Jim, of seeing him shut his hurt away and try to pretend it didn't exist. So he concocted a rambling tale about sleep depravation leading to feelings of abandonment and insomnia and watched Jim's confused frown give way to a look of indulgent fondness. Blair asked to bunk upstairs with his partner. Ellison shook his head, not in denial but with a kind of affectionate relief. They had turned their backs to each other and woken tangled together in a comforting heap. The next morning neither had said anything, though Jim met Blair's gaze with a gentle smile and squeezed his shoulder. In that moment Blair recognized the emotions which had sheltered them the night before. He smiled, wondering what his partner's reaction would be to finding out he was loved unconditionally. In the hours since, their closeness had only intensified, giving both men the impression they were hurtling towards some pre-ordained destination. 

"Chief?" Jim's voice dragged him back to the present. "Did I wake you?" 

"No," Blair admitted, finding words for Jim's question, "you didn't wake me." 

In truth Jim rarely woke him, not since the True Crime fiasco. Blair still smiled whenever he thought of waking to find his partner's face hovering a scant inch above his, Ellison breathing a warning in his ear. Shushed with gentle fingers, Jim pulled him from the bed, shielding him as he opened the door, gun in hand. It had taken some fast talking from Simon Banks to make sure Cascade's television viewing audience wasn't treated to the sight of its best detective and his male roommate, both dressed only in boxers, looking rumpled and sleepy and erotically dangerous, on that week's edition of TRUE CRIME. Since that time Jim had been very careful about opening the door in his boxers and even more so about waking Sandburg. "What's wrong, Jim?" he whispered, "is your headache worse?" 

Ellison swallowed another mouthful of beer, then held the bottle out for Blair. "You don't hear it, do you?" His voice still held a touch of incredulity as if even now after three years he found it hard to believe no one else experienced things in quite the same way he did and that tiny quiver in his voice stopped the beer bottle half way to Sandburg's lips. Blair paused, holding his breath in a vain attempt to hear anything other than the normal apartment sounds but it was useless as always. Sometimes he caught himself praying Jim's abilities had rubbed off, just a little, on him just so that Jim wouldn't be all alone. He shook his head, aware that he'd disappointed his best friend yet again, but Jim only smiled. Blair reached out, laying his hand gently on his friend's knee. Jim's sentinel abilities were so much a part of him that when he recognized the gulf between his unique senses and "normal" people's it hit him hard. Blair had grown used to the slightly hurt look in Jim's warm eyes over the years, though it cut deeper each time it appeared. He knew Ellison still didn't understand why he alone shouldered the burden. 

"What is it," Blair asked, moving over beside his partner, "what do you hear?" 

Ellison sighed, one hand coming up to rake his short hair into spikes, then rub across his forehead. "I don't know," he admitted. "It's - it's a sound or a feeling - " He jerked to his feet, pacing the length of the room only to return to the couch and drop down beside Sandburg. "I can't describe it, Chief, but I can...sense it sometimes." 

The scientist, always lurking near the surface, rose in Sandburg, "Sense it? How? When did you first notice this, Jim? Can you describe..." 

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Jim fended off the questions with a raised hand. "Slow down, Einstein," he ordered, "I don't think I can explain it. I have this headache, it just won't go away tonight." Jim pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezed shut. Blair could see the lines of pain in his face, lines much deeper than those which crinkled when Jim really smiled. 

"Okay," Blair rested both elbows on his knees, eye riveted to Ellison's face. "Relax, Jim," he instructed, "take a deep breath and let's see if we can trace this back." He'd barely finished speaking before Ellison closed his eyes and leaned back against the cushions. Jim could basically place himself in a light trance, accessing many of the buried faucets of his memory but he never attempted it without the reassuring presence of his guide. "Concentrate, Jim, think back to the first time you sensed it." 

For several moments Ellison didn't respond, he continued to breathe deeply, chest rising and falling in an even pattern. Blair had almost decided it wasn't working when Jim's body went ridged. His chest heaved with effort, his expression twisted, eyes screwed shut, fists clenched until Blair expected to see blood dripping from his palms. Sandburg moved closer, one hand coming to rest on his partner's chest, fingers splayed wide as if he could ease Jim's struggled with just his touch. He could feel the thin layer of sweat pop out across the smooth muscles, the suddenly rapid beat of his heart. "At the Braithwaite house," came Jim's rasping whisper. "There, just under Maggie Braithwaite's crying," head cocked to one side, Jim listened, "I - I can't figure it out. It's.....it's here, too." Blair shifted, going to his knees before the sentinel so that he could grab Jim's wrists but Ellison jerked, shoving Blair back so that the younger man landed with a bone rattling crunch against the coffee table. Jim's hands flew to his arms, nails digging, clawing frantically at something only the detective could see. Sandburg stared in horror as long red gouges appeared in the tanned flesh, tiny dots of blood flecking the corded muscles. Blair pulled himself up, throwing himself across Jim, his hands vice-like, stopping the abuse but not breaking Ellison free of the scene playing out inside his mind. "Blair!" Jim called. "It's like," he panted, "like a - a thousand fire ants tearing, eating - oh god!" Blair was ready this time, he jumped to his feet, catching Ellison as he, too, bolted upright. 

"Jim! Jim!" He clutched the wide shoulders, pulling himself further into Jim's personal space, effectively trapping Ellison's hands between them, "listen to me, just me. It's okay, now, it's okay." He continued to hold onto his friend, words flowing from his mouth as he calmed them both. What seemed like hours passed before the ragged breathing slowed, the knotted muscles relaxed letting Jim sag against his partner. Blair offered his own strength, providing comfort and asking for nothing in return. Ellison merely leaned on him for a long time and then slowly, like two children seeking the shelter of their mother's embrace, his arms crept around Blair's waist. Sandburg held on, giving all he could, being everything he thought Jim might need. Blair kept his arms around Jim, grateful in a way he'd never been before that Ellison allowed him this intimacy. After a while Ellison nodded, stepping back but keeping his hands pressed against Sandburg's chest. 

"I'm okay, Chief," he promised despite the pallor of his skin and the thin trickles of blood still sparkling on his forearms. His sharp eyes scanned the room, skipping over Blair several times before darting a look at the anthropologist. "Sorry, Sandburg," he said, clearing his throat, "didn't hurt you, did I?" 

"No, of course not," Blair told him. He ruthlessly denied the sting of tears behind his eyelids, allowing only love to show. "Look, whatever this is," he tapped Ellison's chest, ignoring the flinch it produced in the other man, "it's going to take a little work." 

"Well," Jim twisted his neck from side to side, easing the kinks tension had knotted there, "it's going to have to wait. I need some sleep before we tackle the big stuff, Chief." He yawned, then offered a slight smile, "you can sleep in tomorrow. I have a court appearance for the Sanderson case." 

"What about the Braithwaite's?" Blair watched Ellison's face freeze, "Jim? Hey, what is it?" 

"Nothing, nothing," Jim muttered. Blair continued to watch him a moment, waiting silently but Ellison offered no other comment. 

"Let me get the kit," Sandburg finally said and hurried into the bathroom. His thoughts began to jump and snag inside his brain, a hundred questions queued nervously, shuffling with impatience but experience told him nothing would be gained until Ellison had time to think about it. With the landmine of his psyche shored up for invasion, then and only then, would Jim open up and talk. Jim let him clean the scratches, thanking him absently with a smile and a hand on Blair's shoulder. 

"Go to sleep, Sandburg," he commanded and fled to his own room. Blair waited until the tiny sounds of his partner settling in for sleep reached his ears before going back to his own room. He lay there for a long time, listening to the wide awake silence from above him. At one point in the night he thought he heard a single muffled cry but fell asleep before it was repeated. 

#### 

Sunlight glinted in Sandburg's eyes, making the heavy quilt his last line of defense. He tugged it up over his head and buried his face in the welcoming darkness. It felt so good to just drift on the warm currents of sleep, drowsing contentedly. Almost back to the gentle oblivion from where he had started, the nerve shattering ring of the phone had him half out of bed before he realized it wasn't a nuclear explosion. "What?" Sandburg croaked into the receiver and stood swaying as he was informed he had to take a morning class for an ill professor. 

"Damnit," Blair mumbled, rooting through his pile of laundry for clean clothes. He had a headache and all he wanted was to turn around and throw himself back into the bed. He sorted through the clothing, discarding theories for the throb in his temples and the leaden pull of his limbs as quickly as he tossed soiled jeans aside. The sight of the t-shirt he plucked from the floor, four jagged lines, the span of a big man's fist, streaking across the front like red lightning brought a groan from deep within, "Jim." It all rushed back; waking to find Ellison in the living room, the strange confession, the horrifying sight of his partner tearing at his own flesh. "What the hell is going on," voice raw with emotion, he demanded of the empty room. He needed peace, quiet and enough time to sort out the facts from his fears. 

But time was a premium he couldn't afford. Ignoring the sense of impending doom, the fissure of dread cracking his control, Sandburg forced himself upright, dressed without even knowing he was doing it and, collecting his backpack, hurried from the loft. Bypassing the elevator, Blair headed down the stairs, taking them two at a time and hoping to make it to Rainier before the students had walked out of the room. He'd just passed the second landing, swinging himself around the corner post when he was buffeted by a whirlwind in baggy jeans and a South Park t-shirt . Blair pressed himself against the wall and let it thunder down the stairs before him. "Sorry, Mr. Sandburg," called a sweet voice from along the hallway. 

Blair glanced up and stifled the wince which threatened to sending him racing back to their apartment. "Oh, hey, Mrs. Beers. Ricky's as late for school as I am," he sidled passed where she stood, wishing Jim were beside him. Jim had often proved territorial where his guide was concerned, not that Ellison would break her arm for touching him or anything, but Connie Beers had a "thing" for the cop and if Ellison were here she'd be leering at Jim's sculptured body instead of undressing Blair with heavily made-up eyes. 

"That boy," Mrs. Beers purred, "he stays up half the night playing video games." Her bleached ringlets swayed as she shook her head, "he needs a man's guidance." 

"Uh, yeah, whatever," Blair mumbled and escaped intact though slightly in need of a shower. He made it to Rainier in time to teach his class and ended up spending most of the day at Rainier catching up on his neglected duties. Working with Ellison at the cop shop had put a serious dent in his office hours, not to mention his research. He didn't mind, the Sentinel Project had become his life much as Jim had become his closest companion. They didn't talk about it, Ellison wasn't the type to spill his guts no matter how close they got, but he and Jim had a bond neither could escape. It went far beyond friendship, it went passed even what he'd read about Sentinels and their Guides. He couldn't find the right words for what flowed between them; soul-mates came the closest, two people who had come to mean everything to each other. Here they were two men no one would have thought would be able to tolerate each other for more than five seconds and they were almost ready to mark three years as partners and roommates with only a few weeks separation in all that time. 

Jim could make life difficult, though the House Rules had all but fallen by the wayside, but he could also make life a joy. Blair had never really had a close relationship with a male, at least nothing longer than a few months. With Jim, he had a father, brother, and best friend all in one tightly wrapped package. In the beginning he'd chafed at the limits Ellison set on him, he didn't like having to report his movements, his motives or his means. It had only been as the closeness grew between them and his study of Sentinels deepened that Blair began to understand what drove Ellison. The most basic drive a Sentinel possesses is to protect; usually those instincts were directed at a whole village. And Jim, in his capacity as a police officer, satisfied those instincts, but not completely. Ancient sentinels, just by the fact their area would only include a few hundred people at most, had felt a personal reward in their duty. Jim protected a modern city, a place where the citizens were faceless most of the time and more than a few of them didn't always appreciate what the police did for them. Ellison needed to know that it mattered, needed to see it reflected in his charge's eyes, and that was why those urges had been steered towards his closest companions. With little family on hand, Jim's sense of duty revolved around his friends, and the major force of his instincts, by fact of their constant closeness, had come to rest on Blair. 

Ellison's reactions sprang from his fear for his guide; he didn't want Blair exposed to danger not just because he could be lost to his sentinel but also because he might be changed. A sentinel needed a guide who could provide a safety net for him away from the overwhelming sensations which drove him. Jim's standing order to "stay in the truck" had been an attempt to shelter Sandburg from the dark side of life, to keep him untainted and thus a haven of innocence in Ellison's dark world. It had taken time and persistence, but Sandburg had shown he could do it; he could be beside his partner and remain himself. There were things he'd never wanted to see, horrible crimes which kept him awake some nights, but even then Jim protected him, talking to him until the fear faded, explaining how they'd saved lives, giving the gentleness which was never too far beneath the surface. Underneath the maturity Blair had found within himself he was still his Sentinel's Guide, he was still Blair Sandburg and Jim knew it. It didn't stop Ellison's instincts from kicking into overdrive, he could bitch like a wounded bear, but it gave Blair a good feeling. 

Blair smiled to himself. Yeah, sometimes it was nice to have one person in your life who cared enough to rearrange their existence just to include you. When he thought about the changes Jim had effected just for him, Blair felt awed. Ellison, with his overwhelming need for privacy, had opened his home and taken in a kid he'd known for barely a month, he had gotten Blair out of jams, he'd picked him up in the middle of the night when the Volvo refused to budge, he put up with strange music and strange habits. Oh, all this kindness didn't come free, he also demanded loyalty, respect, honesty and above all trust and he did it in a tone that brooked no argument and sometimes with a nastiness that cut like a knife. Still, Blair found himself waking in the middle of the night, drenched with sweat, whenever he let himself think about how he held Jim's life in his hands every time they went out on the street. Of course, Jim heard the nightmares and came down on the pretext of food or a drink and then he would sit beside Blair's bed, rarely speaking, just being there for him. Blair knew he loved Jim more than life itself, and he also knew he'd never been good with long term relationship and that anything he felt for Ellison was doomed to failure. The certain knowledge that someday he'd disappoint Jim, hurt the one person in the world he loved, made him want to weep. Jim would forgive him, he was that kind of guy, but Blair knew he would never be able to forgive himself. 

And that's why whatever was bothering Jim, making him edgy and causing his sleeplessness, scared Blair. What if he couldn't find an answer before Jim got hurt? Last night, with Ellison falling into some weird zone out and the horrible sight of his powerful hands clawing his own flesh, made Blair sick. Each time his mind played the scene back it was all he could do to keep from puking his guts out. Jim needed him, more than he ever had and right now Blair had no answers. "Get a grip, Sandburg," he chided himself, "you'll figure this out." Hoping he was right, Blair packed his books into his bag, it was late morning but he'd finished his paperwork and could not ignore the pull on his psyche to return to his sentinel's side. Locking his office, he headed for the car. He'd just turned onto Hamilton when his cell phone went off. Clutching the wheel with one hand he reached over and rummaged through his backpack, pulling the ringing phone out at a red light. "Sandburg," he answered. 

"Sandburg, get your ass down here." The voice, though rendered somewhat less severe than normal by the connection, made Blair wince. Simon Banks wasn't a man to trifle with. 

"What's up, Captain," he asked as the light changed to green and he swung into the lane which would allow him to turn towards the station. 

"It's Ellison," came Simon's harsh answer. "He's...sick..or something....I don't know. I need you here now." Blair didn't even turn the phone off, he dropped it to the seat, laid on the horn and blasted around a slow moving Chevy even before Simon had finished speaking. The drive to Cascade PD took about seven minutes but Blair did it in three. He slammed the Volvo to a stop in the parking garage, ignoring the shouts for him to move it. He tossed the keys to a uniformed cop and took off at a run. His headlong rush up the seven flights of stairs left him panting like a race horse but got him to Major Crimes faster than the elevator could have. He noticed the area seemed almost deserted; office personnel clustered around a far desk and the few officers around seemed to be avoiding the swath of floor near Banks' office. 

Clutching his side, Blair made his way straight towards the closed door, softly speaking to his partner all the way. "Relax, Jim," he murmured, "just be cool. I'm right here and we'll sort this out." He paused at the door, took a deep breath and gently opened it. His first sight; Simon sitting at his desk, chomping nervously on his cigar made the queasy fluttering in Sandburg's stomach only intensify. The black captain's eyes were locked to a hunched form standing before the windows. Back lit, wearing a faultless gray suit, Jim looked like the Angel of Death from that Sunday night TV show; all broody and sexy and sad. Blair felt his heart jump in his chest and saw the tiny movement in his sentinel which signaled Jim's awareness of the fact. Steeling himself for whatever would happen, Blair motioned Simon to silence and stepped up behind Ellison. He reached out, too conscious of Banks' sharp breath, and laid one hand on Ellison's shoulder. Jim didn't say anything, he didn't have to, through the touch of his hand Blair could feel the trembling. 

"Jim?" he whispered, "how you feeling, buddy?" The older man's head came up slowly and he turned just enough to look over his shoulder at his partner. Blair gave him a moment then turned to Simon. "What happened, Simon?" 

Banks grimaced, "after our little court appearance we went by the Braithwaite's. Jim wanted to poke around a bit more and I had a few questions. I did the talking while Jim checked the boy's room. Next thing I know he's heading for the front door and pukes in their rose bushes." While he spoke Banks' eyes never strayed from his detective's back, in them Blair could see the captain's concern not just for one of his men but for a friend. Blair nodded, his own fear a knot twisting the world out of shape. He patted Ellison's shoulder gently, hoping he could convey some kind of comfort even if he didn't feel it himself. "Hey, buddy. Let's go home," Sandburg suggested. He waited until the trembling eased a bit before sliding his hand down to Jim's elbow and taking his wrist. Tugging gently he got the detective moving, knowing by an almost imperceptible movement that Jim wanted to put his arm across Blair's shoulders. It took them a moment to get comfortable and in that time Blair could feel Simon's concerned eyes boring into them. 

"Uh, Sandburg," Simon kept his voice soft and low, "what's going on?" 

"I'll let you know," Blair advised. Ellison didn't say anything, he stood, rubbing one hand over his eyes, the red welts along his forearm puffy and raw. Blair saw Simon's gaze flick to them, his frown deepening. 

"Jim? You going to be okay?" 

Ellison met his captain's gaze for the first time since Blair's arrival. "Yeah," Jim breathed, "I'll be okay, sir." He nodded to Blair he was ready. Together they left the office, Jim leaning heavily on his partner, moving slowly. All around them hushed conversations faltered only to start back up as soon as they had passed. Blair could feel the gossip like an ever present gnat, it flitted about them, swatted out of the way only to return again. Jim didn't reacted in the slightest, he never did. He shrugged when Blair asked about the rumors, telling them with no embarrassment at all. Ellison couldn't care less what others thought of his relationship with Blair. He'd even admitted in the first few weeks of their co-habitation that he knew in this day and age everyone assumed it was more than friendship which had made him take Sandburg into his home. 

Blair had always been amazed by Jim's reaction. He would have thought a macho guy like Ellison, ex-Ranger and all that, would chafe if others thought he was gay, but Jim only shrugged it off. Strangely, it had been Blair himself, raised by a mother who embraced free love in all its forms, who'd experienced anger and fear. His anger had come not because they thought him Jim's lover, but because they thought it was the only reason Jim kept him around. Faced with remarks about "Ellison's little buddy" he could do nothing but hide his hurt as best he could. And that led to his fear - fear that those who didn't understand, those ignorant and full of hate would do something to his friend, that Jim would be hurt because of what others believed. He'd tried to warn Jim, tentatively suggesting more distance, broaching the subject of moving into his own place but Ellison would get this look in his eyes - a look so lost it hit Sandburg like a sucker punch to the stomach. It had been there when Blair had been offered a chance to study in Borneo, pain and fear in equal proportion saying the words Jim could not. Again, when Incacha had died, Jim's eyes had begged for comfort, support, and guidance in complete silence. Since that time the look had resurfaced, infrequently, just its shadow lingering in the cool blue depths, a hint of pain beneath his control. Blair resolved not to fail his partner. He had to be there for Jim - he had to because no one else had ever been asked. 

They weathered the gossip, Jim never giving in an inch when it came to protecting his partner, sticking up for Blair with his fellow officers. Ellison went his own way, acted according to a sense of honor and duty and what others thought be damned. His casual affection never faltered nor did he curtail his habit of peppering their conversation with gentle touches and endearments. In the beginning Blair had been flustered by Jim's arsenal of nicknames for him, but soon it became one of the big detective's most endearing qualities. Now he just shook his head at the endlessly inventive and oddly intimate collection Ellison produced, one seemingly for every occasion. Blair never commented on them, he'd learned the hard way not to question the detective's unusual habit. One night Jim called him "cupcake" and he'd playfully challenged the older man on it. Jim's mortified expression, and halting explanation of being called cupcake by his own mother reduced Sandburg to a babbling glob of guilt. Blair could have kicked himself, Jim's traumatic past had blocked off whole areas of his memory, and here he was jumping on Ellison for revealing something new. For weeks after that Jim had called him only "Sandburg" - not even "Chief". 

Now, steering his partner through the collection of his fellow officers, Blair found himself touched by the depth of Jim's acceptance and wondering if anyone would believe the truth of his relationship with Jim. How would they react if they understood that the connection between the two went even deeper than sex? No one in his life had ever meant as much to him as Jim did. Sometimes it seemed as if he could only breath if Jim were beside him, the bond went so deep and had become so strong, Blair doubted if words could come close to explaining it. It seemed to him that he'd always been at Jim's side, basking in the gentle affection, taming the raging temper, guiding the raw abilities. Destiny; maybe this had been the fate he'd been meant to live, Blair didn't question it. He accepted it with the same attitude he accepted Jim's touch. Ellison's habit of steering him through crowds by the simple means of one large hand pressed against his back or up under his hair on the nape of Blair's neck made him feel safe. Knowing those deadly hand were wrapped around him in nothing but affection, always brought with it a sense of peace and contentment. Blair moved his own hand, mirroring Jim's habitual gesture, letting his thumb caress the smooth skin just beneath his friend's short hair, and hoped it produced the same effect. 

The cop let himself be led to the Volvo, crooking an eyebrow at the haphazard parking, but not saying anything, remaining silent, eyes closed, all the way back to the loft. It wasn't until Blair had the door unlocked that Ellison finally spoke. "I'm going upstairs," he announced and slowly trudged towards the steps to his bedroom. Sandburg watched him go, knowing there was no point in putting it off. He went to the bathroom and got aspirins, a damp cloth and a glass of water then hurried after his partner. He found Jim lying face down on the bed, his jacket tossed on the dresser and his tie crumpled on the floor. 

"Hey," he said quietly, "I brought you some aspirin." He eased onto the wide mattress, still holding the items he'd brought. At first Jim didn't react, though Blair knew there was no chance his sentinel hadn't heard, and then ever so slowly Jim let out a sigh and rolled over. A tiny smile, more a feeling than a real expression, lightened the tension still coiling through him. He reached out and let Blair lay two pills in his palm before sitting up. His fingers wrapped around Blair's so that they both held the water glass, and his eyes trapped Sandburg's with rueful candor. "How do you feel?" Blair asked softly. 

"Thanks, Chief," Jim said and swallowed the pills, "I feel lousy." When Blair took the glass away Jim settled back on the bed still looking at his partner. 

"What?" Blair demanded softly. He used the cool cloth to wipe sweat from Ellison's face, tenderness causing his heart to ache when his partner closed his eyes and relaxed. Blair sponged as much skin as he could reach, pausing only to slowly peel off the white shirt, throw it on top of the jacket and slip Jim's expensive Italian shoes off. Through it all his partner remained uncharacteristic passive. 

"Just thinking how lucky I was to meet you," Jim said at length, his tone hushed, almost awed. He reached out blindly, fingers brushing Blair's arm for a moment before pulling back. Sandburg bit his lip, afraid he might say something which would ruin the mood between them. His proud warrior needed him, only him, to take care of things when he couldn't. The magnitude of what power Jim granted him and how much it must cost the self reliant man to give it, struck Blair. He feathered the cloth across Jim's forehead, tracing down his cheek. He remembered the first time he'd dared to take care of Jim, the wary surprise in those sky blue eyes had spoken volumes about his past. Jim Ellison could take anything anyone threw at him, he was tough as nails, he'd been raised to fend for himself and protect those weaker. He'd been told all his life that showing pain or need made him an object of contempt to those he respected. Tenderness and love were so alien that the very notion Blair wanted to sit with him, wanted to make sure he was as comfortable as could be, flip-flopped his perception of the world. 

Jim turned his head slightly, his grip finding Blair's wrist without benefit of sight. Tugging gently, he settled his guide beside him, once it wouldn't have been so, but now he seemed to take comfort in the warmth and security of another soul nearby. Blair wanted so much to say the words, to express some of what he felt, but each sentence that popped into his brain sounded trite, worn thin with casual use. He loved Jim, not just because he was beautiful and kind, not even because he was generous and loyal, he loved Jim because he had to. Every moment in his life, each and every thing which had happened to him, shaping him into the person he had become had also molded him into a man who must love James Ellison. He could no more not love Jim than he could not breath, and he wanted to say it aloud, placing it like a bridge between them. But memory, the serpent which coiled around his heart, hissed in his ear, reminding him of all the others, the ones he had loved - the ones who had left him. 

"Funny, I didn't get that impression from you at our first meeting," Blair said, forcing his words to be light and amusing, "I seem to remember you yelling at me, shoving me against the wall, and then walking out." He could feel the soothing warmth of their close pressed bodies seeping deep inside him, blurring the lines between his body and Jim's. But this closeness seemed just another part of their friendship and when Ellison shifted, bringing his arm up and around so that he held Blair against him, it felt natural, it felt as if he had waited his whole life for this moment. That simple movement had Sandburg fighting the sting of tears which filled his eyes. Jim might be motivated by instinct, by his need to protect his guide, but the little things came from his heart, and Blair loved him even more for them. 

"And right under the wheels of a garbage truck," Jim whispered. Blair tried to think of some flippant answer, some witty observation, but the reassuring beat of Jim's heart beneath his ear had lulled him so close to sleep one breath was all it would take to push him over the edge. He teetered there, wondering why he couldn't say the words and what would happen if they ever slipped free. Jim, his Jim, would probably blush scarlet and say how flattered he was but that he didn't feel the same way. He'd never mention it again, and struggle to make things the way they had always been but the memory of Blair's confession would be there, always be between them like a wall. No more would he be offered the other half of the bed, no longer would his affectionate partner caress his cheeks, or hug him tightly without wondering if he should, if Blair might be hurt by the gesture. Everything would change, it would destroy the bond they had woven and Blair feared not even sentinel and guide could surmount it. Fate had brought them together like a coin snapped in half finally welded back and if this was all it ever was, Blair knew he would take it. Strangely happy, Blair took in that deep breath, turned his face into Jim's chest and let sleep claim him. 

Mid-afternoon sunlight woke him from troubled dreams. The vague feeling that he'd somehow failed Ellison sent him bolting upright in the wide bed. Voices, low but intense, made him peer over the railings. Jim was deep in conversation with Simon, they both looked angry. He struggled from the tangle of blankets and stumbled down the stairs. Banks looked up, astonishment spreading across his face at seeing Blair come down from Ellison's bedroom. Blair couldn't help the flush which stung his cheeks and Jim's total lack of embarrassment or explanation just made the situation worse. Simon had always turned a deaf ear to the gossip his best detective and his unofficial partner inspired, but now he'd forever have the image of Blair, rumpled and sleepy, coming down from Jim's bedroom stuck in his mind every time their eyes met. 

"I, uh, must of fallen asleep after, uh, dusting your room, Jim," Blair attempted. 

Ellison's dark look stopped any further diversionary tactics. "There's been another kidnapping." He handed Sandburg the file and waited until Blair'd had a chance to skim the contents. "Ellen Switzer reported her son Jason missing two hours ago. She'd sent him to his room after school to do homework, when she called him down to do some chores his room was empty." 

"No signs of forced entry," Blair surmised. 

"Nothing, just like the others." Banks pounded one fist into his palm. "I want you at the scene now, Jim. Are you up to it?" Worried brown eyes noted the paleness of Ellison's skin, the dark rings beginning to show beneath his dulled eyes and the strange scratches Jim rubbed absently. 

"Yes, sir," Jim assured him. "Get your coat, Chief," Ellison directed and together they followed Banks down to the street. 

~~~~~ 

Jason Switzer's family sat huddled around a table which held a collection of photographs taken over the years. The first impression Sandburg got was of a shrine dedicated to the missing boy. Both Ellen and Ben were older than the average parents of an eight year old boy. They'd married late in life and Jason had been a blessing they'd wanted for years. Blair, more attuned to people, sat with them for some time, learning what he could. When Jim appeared in the doorway, a slight nod of his head, indicating he wanted his partner, Blair left with only the knowledge that Jason was smart, happy and well liked by all. 

"Anything?" He asked Ellison. Jim wiped a hand over his face before answering. Blair couldn't help but notice the way his partner slumped against the wall, their impromptu nap had done little to wipe away the lines of exhaustion in his face. 

"Nothing. No forced entry. No one saw anything." Jim shook his head, "it's like he just crawled out the window and walked away." 

They stood in silence a moment before Blair gestured towards Jason's room. "Can I take a look around?" 

"Yeah, Forensics have been all over it." He led the way but stopped short of going in, allowing Sandburg to precede him into the room. It had taken a while but Jim had learned to trust his guide to find things ordinary cops might miss. Sandburg, as he had explained the very first day they met, had been trained in this kind of work, only the scene of the crime was usually a lot older. He wandered around the room, looking at action figures cluttering shelves, the toy trucks and cars, the goldfish in their bowl, and all the things a little boy in the 1990's needed to be happy and entertained. Jim watched him, eyes tracking his partner's every move the way they always did. Blair stopped before a small TV screen, shifting though the Disney movies before turning his attention to the video games. He snapped on the television, instantly captivated by colorful lights dancing across the screen. "Hmm, that's odd," he muttered. "Why would the kid leave his video game playing but turn off the set?" Blair heard his partner move but didn't bother to turn around, Jim had a habit of keeping close to him at crime scenes. Whether to keep him from breaking procedure or just to keep him from getting too involved, Blair had never figured out. He turned his attention to a cage full of squeaking white mice, watching in astonishment as the tiny creatures began to scurry around the enclosure in apparent panic. "Hey, Jim," he called, but received no answer. Glancing over his shoulder at Ellison, Blair's question evaporated in a wave of full blown panic. "Jim!" 

Ellison hit the floor hard, crumpling so suddenly Sandburg could only stare in shock. The detective lay perfectly still a moment then spasms began to shake his large frame, jerking his arms and legs until he resembled a turtle some cruel child had tipped over on its back. Blair was beside him in a flash, rolling him onto his side and yelling for Simon. 

"What?" Banks' annoyance died at the sight of Jim's now still form. He made the call for an ambulance and then dropped down beside Sandburg. 

"What happened?" 

"A seizure of some kind," Blair panted. He ran his hands over Jim's face, soothing his unconscious partner in the only way left to him. "He hit the floor then started to convulse, Simon. I don't - I don't know what's wrong!" 

"Easy, Blair," Simon said. "We'll take care of him." His gaze couldn't miss the way Sandburg stroked his partner's cheek or the fact Blair trembled as if he were suffering a convulsion of his own. Memories assailed him, Ellison's descriptions of Blair's panic attacks and how much they had frightened Jim resurfaced, dividing Banks' attention between the two men. Jim had always been protective of his partner, careful to stay close after anything nasty occurred, afraid his partner might lose it in some way. With Jim lying motionless on the floor, Simon felt the responsibility Ellison carried for his younger partner shift to his own shoulders. 

Jim didn't regain consciousness until the ambulance arrived, then his blue eyes fluttered open, locking on Blair's face for an instant before closing again. EMTs checked Jim's airway, started an IV and, careful to keep him on his side, loaded him onto a stretcher. The wheels of the gurney clacked down the stairs, the sound echoed by camera shutters as several reporters raced towards the house, a news van pulled up and stopped almost in the ambulance's path. Alerted by scanners, they fought for the best photo of Cacade's number one detective being carried off on his shield. Flashbulbs and the garish lights used by television news crews lit the scene, casting eerie shadows over the fallen man and his escort. Blair shoved passed the swarming crowd, knocking lens out of his face, his attention riveted on Jim. One pushy reporter from Channel 5 shoved a microphone under the observer's nose, demanding a statement, but Sandburg ducked around him and hurried on. The paramedics had to push Blair out of the way to load Jim into the back of the ambulance and still he scrambled in ahead of them like a monkey up a banyon tree, to kneel at Jim's side all the way to the hospital. Ellison continued to rouse briefly, and each time his groggy eyes would find Blair, satisfying himself that his partner was safe and near, then drift shut. At the hospital Sandburg tried to follow his partner into the emergency room but Banks, arriving just then, pulled him back before security had to be called. "Calm down, Sandburg," Banks hissed, over Blair's noisy objections and flailing attempts to break free. He looked far from calm himself, but he pulled the younger man over to a pair of hard plastic chairs and shoved him into one, forcibly holding him there. "Let them take care of him. You're not doing Jim any good like this." 

"And they are?" Blair dropped his head into his hand, ruffling his mane of hair as if he might pull it out by the roots. "Simon, you know how sensitive he is. What if they give him some drug and he can't take it? What if he's allergic to it? He could die, Simon. He could die because they try to save his life and I'm not beside him!" 

Banks had no answer. He crumpled like tinfoil into the chair beside Blair, gazing at the pale yellow wall opposite. "You'll know if something like that happens." It wasn't a question and it made Blair turn to look at him. "Don't give me that look, Sandburg," Banks said with a sigh. He suddenly looked tired, older. "I've seen it before. No, it's not a special sentinel thing," he said, "just partners. They always seem to...feel each other. Of course, with you and Jim it's worse. I always thought it was because......" He broke off, hastily glancing away. 

"Because I love him?" 

That made Banks' head snap back around, dark eyes pinning him. He seemed to be reading Blair's soul, delving as deeply as he could. Simon shook his head ruefully, "because he loves you." 

Now it was Blair's turn to stare. Simon failed to catalog even a tenth of the emotions which flickered across Blair's face; surprise, fear, doubt, hope, gratitude, acceptance? He reached out to lay a fatherly hand on Blair's shoulder knowing one day his own son's face would reflect most of those same feelings and hoping he would be able to offer some kind of comfort then as well. He saw the prickle of unshed tears form just before Sandburg turned away. Hope had won the fight, convincing Simon he'd done the right thing by voicing what he'd long suspected. Blair sat back, closing his eyes to the bland corridor and calling upon the strength of spirit Incacha seemed to have thought he possessed. He allowed himself the luxury of finding his center, of soothing his own raw nerves with meditative force, and when Banks touched his shoulder again, Blair opened calm eyes. 

"How do they expect us to know any of this?" Banks held up a clipboard with several forms attached. "Jim's social security number?" 

"014-40-5549" Blair rattled off. He met Simon's startled look with a shrug. "I deposit our checks, he pays all the bills. We don't have a lot of privacy, a lot of secrets from each other," Blair explained softly, "at least not about these kind of things." Banks didn't say anything, just finished the forms with Blair's help and headed back to the nurse's station with them. When he returned they settled in to wait, cups of weak coffee and stale donuts their only comfort. With each passing moment, Blair could feel the serenity meditating had granted him slipping away. On it's own, without the structured concentration, his brain supplied nightmarish scenarios where Jim retreated to some permanent zone-out, lost to him forever. He gave up sitting, finally pacing the hallway until Banks grabbed him and shoved him back into the chair. And even then, Blair caught himself drumming nervous rhythms on the plastic. 

"Mr. Sandburg?" A woman approached, her named tag proudly proclaiming they had the honor of meeting Doctor M. Scott. She was small, with weary features and gray hair and took a very large step back when confronted with the wild eyed man looking equally ready to bolt down the hallway and collapse under the strain of not knowing. "Uh, I'm looking for Detective Ellison's.....partner?" Her gaze bounced between Blair and Simon, finally fixing on Sandburg as the most likely candidate. "First, he's fine." 

"What's wrong? What happened?" 

"I can't be sure," Scott told them. "We did an EEG and a CAT scan, the results of which were normal. His blood work is fine," she glanced down at the clipboard she carried. "You've indicated he has no history of seizures, but severe allergies. Right now we don't have any idea what caused this episode but it might be connected to his sensitivity." 

"Can I see him?" 

"He's asleep," Scott said to discourage him. "He'll probably sleep six to eight hours. Most people do after any kind of seizure and when he wakes he'll be fairly groggy, a little disorientated." 

"Please?" Blair moved closer, reaching out to catch her sleeve, "I need to see him, just to make sure he's really okay." Doctor Scott scanned his face, reading the genuine distress Blair couldn't hide, understanding softening the lines in her face. She patted Sandburg's hand. 

"Of course. I'll have one of the nurses show you to his room when he's settled." 

She left them and some time later a nurse escorted them into Jim's room. Blair hesitated at the door, suddenly unsure of what he faced but with Simon's solid presence at his back he stepped inside. Jim appeared to be in the middle of a nightmare, moving restlessly and mumbling softly. "Jim?" Blair stepped closer, one hand coming to rest on Ellison's shoulder. Jim sighed, turning towards the contact, and sank deeper into sleep. "He looks okay," Blair said in relief, "he's okay." 

"We better go," Simon reminded Sandburg, but Blair shook his head. 

"I'm staying. The doctor said he'll wake up in a few hours and he's gonna freak if I'm not here." Blair pulled up a chair and made himself as comfortable as he could. 

Banks opened his mouth, ready to try and persuade Blair of his folly but knew it was useless. Jim would freak if he woke up in the hospital and Blair wasn't someplace near. He'd often accused Ellison of being overly protective of his partner but Blair was all Jim had. Before Sandburg had come along, James Ellison had reminded everyone of a pitbull on a chain, snapping at anyone who dared to hold out a hand to him. Sandburg had offered Jim unconditional friendship, worming his way into the detective's life and home when no one else had dared venture near and Jim had responded to him in a way Simon had never seen before. Jim had someone to look after, someone to focus on instead of living only for the excitement and danger of his job. Cops like that, even cop's with Jim's unique abilities, burned out and when they did they took people with them. 

"Get some rest, Blair," Simon whispered and turned to leave. He looked back at the door, not in the least surprised when Sandburg reached out and took Jim's hand in his. He hoped whatever the hell was wrong with Ellison wasn't something to do with his crazy senses. Heaven help Sandburg if it was, he knew - they both knew - Jim's sentinel abilities were a direct result of Blair's faith in them. 

Blair sat in the dark for several hours, never loosening his hold on Jim's hand even when he dozed off. He had never been so afraid before in his life. Naomi had raised him to be independent, to rely on his own abilities and resources, she had warned him over and over about becoming too involved with anyone. When you allowed someone too close they, not you, made the rules. Blair had always thought his mother's advise sound, he'd followed her from place to place, "uncle" to "uncle" and never allowed himself to become involved. That upbringing had made him the perfect anthropologist; he had years of practice observing but never interfering, he could imitate a culture and never once become a part of it. But Jim had changed all the rules, he'd forced Blair to throw away his text books. As a sentinel Ellison needed someone who not only understood him but grounded him, centered him when he was vulnerable. A guide couldn't do that from the safety of his own world, he had to step across that line, he had to become part of the sentinel's tribe. Jim had provided him with a home, he'd unlocked his doors and shoved them open, waiting for Blair to walk through at his own pace. The scenes on the other side of that door were sometimes horrible; pain and death and more evil than Blair had ever imagined existed in the world, but always Jim's solid presence had been right there with him. He'd jumped into Jim's world with barely a pause for Naomi's words, and if it came to that, Blair knew he would gladly rip his own heart out rather than see anything happen to this man. 

"Jim," he moaned. "Please, Jim." Blair squeezed the lax fingers in his, drawing Jim's hand to his face and folding it against his cheek. He knew his partner wouldn't mind, even if Jim awoke at that moment, he would sense Blair's need and never deny him comfort. "Wake up, Jim," he called so softly only a sentinel would have heard but received no answer. Ellison continued to sleep, and Blair, still holding tightly to his hand, soon slipped into sleep again. 

He woke with a start as the first rays of dawn filtered into the room, the fluttering of his heart make him gasp for breath. The hand still clutched in his twitched, then jerked free from his grasp. "No, oh no, no, no" Sandburg chanted. Not another seizure! Doctor Scott had indicated one might just be a fluke, something that could happened at anytime to anyone, but a series of them could be indicative of something horribly wrong with his partner. Blind panic sent him scrabbling for the call button, Sandburg's fear paralyzed mind at first not understanding the soft question barely audible over the hammering of his heart. 

"Bl'r?" Jim's gaze, slightly unfocused, found Blair, wandered over him a moment then turned into a puzzled frown. "Wha's," speech a little slurred, Jim squinted at his partner and tried again, "wha's goin' on?" He seemed to notice where they were and his frown deepened quickly. "You 'kay?" 

"Jim!" Blair couldn't stop the relieved smile which took over his face, he dropped the button which would bring the nurse and reached down, one hand sliding across Ellison's forehead the other skimming his chest, determining the reality of his vision. "Man, I was so scared! Are you okay? Should I go ahead and call the nurse?" 

"Chief," Jim batted weakly at the hands dancing over his chest. He pushed himself up in the bed, and pressed both palms to his temples. After a moment he shook his head and turned to meet his partner's eyes. "W-what happened? I don't remember anything." 

"You collapsed, Jim," Blair raked a surprisingly steady hand through his hair, on the inside he still felt as if he were quivering like a bow sting. "You had a seizure of some kind. They've run tests but couldn't find a cause." 

"A seizure?" Jim stared at his partner. "Like....like epilepsy?" 

"Yeah," Blair agreed, eyes suddenly distant, "like epilepsy....." He stared at his partner, brow furrowed as some elusive thought darted through his brain and disappeared before he could catch hold of it. 

"What?" Ellison demanded. 

"Huh? Oh, nothing. I was thinking," Blair shook his head. "I just needed to make sure you were okay. Guess I better get going, man, before they throw me out." 

"I'm coming with you," Jim announced. "Lower these rails and get my clothes, Chief." He pushed back the blankets and waited for Blair to do as he'd been told. 

"Are you sure, Jim?" Blair hovered beside the bed, alarmed by how unwell his partner looked, Ellison's skin had a sickly gray cast and his normally sparkling eyes were dull. "The doctor said you'd be shaky, a little confused maybe. You need to rest." 

"I'm done resting," Jim said firmly. His expression softened a bit in the face of Blair's obvious concern. "I'll rest at home, Chief. Now get my clothes." 

"Okay," Blair lowered the bed rails but stood nearby as Jim swung his legs over the edge of the mattress. Jim wobbled, obviously as groggy as the doctor had predicted, but determined to leave. When it looked as if Ellison would be all right for the few seconds it would take him to get across the room, Sandburg retrieved his clothes from the tiny closet. But when he turned back, Blair's heart leapt to his throat. His mind skimmed back to the first day of their meeting, in this very hospital. All he'd been thinking was that a real sentinel might exist behind this closed door. He'd never once considered that his salvation, his Holy Grail might also be a man who feared he was clinging to the last threads of sanity. He'd walked in on Jim as the detective dressed, never even seeing a man on the edge. He had no idea that his greatest find was really a guy scared because he didn't understand what was happening to him, who had been subjected to frightening and often painful tests, and been completely alone during the whole ordeal. No wonder Jim had grasped at the straw thrown to him, he was going down for the third time and no one seemed to have noticed much less given a damn. Ellison had never wanted his sentinel abilities, he'd asked Blair in the beginning to help him be rid of them, but like Indiana Jones searching for fortune and glory, Blair hadn't been able to ignore a treasure so close to hand. He'd dug, rooting through Jim's barriers, excavating secrets until Ellison had risen like this fabled city in the desert - Blair's triumph, his life's work in the flesh. 

Only now did Sandburg get a sense of the price Jim had paid for his partner's enthusiasm. Ellison wasn't just a sentinel, Blair's own personal superhero - he was a man, a living human being, and right now he had no idea what was happening to him. Jim lived in a fragile world, one which could be destroyed at any moment and he had no clue what might be the cause. He'd counted on Blair, trusted him, believed in him because there was no one else. A crushing weight settled around Blair's heart. Had he exploited Jim for his own agenda? Jim had placed his life and his sanity in Blair's hands just because Blair had said he could help. Sure, in the beginning Blair had done it for research - he'd nurtured Jim's abilities, helped them develop at a phenomenal rate to discover their limits. But now - now he knew he did it because he loved Jim as he'd never loved anyone before in his life and he wanted his sentinel to be everything he was destined to be. This was his doing, he'd pushed Jim along, poking and prodding until Ellison had become the Sentinel of the Great City. Some instinct born inside Sandburg told him that right now his help and support would be the only weapons his sentinel had to fight this. Responsibility, Blair fought the dread in his heart and found a prayer that he would be everything his friend needed. 

"Chief?" Jim questioned, the bruised look in his eyes shadowed by concern. "You okay?" 

"Sorry, Jim." Blair moved forward, forcing his thoughts back as he helped Jim. Passively, Jim let Blair dress him, not as if he were embarrassed but almost with a sense of relief, handing himself over to his partner same as he had from the beginning, trusting Blair to take care of everything he could no longer handle. Sandburg swallowed the lump in his throat determined, more than ever, to do his damnedest. He pulled Jim's undershirt over his head then helped him into his sweater. Pants, socks, shoes, his hands touched Jim gently, intimately as if somehow he was afraid his partner might be made of glass and shatter into a million pieces at any second. Ellison gazed at him the whole time, eyes following his movements but no expression marring his features. When Blair finished, he looked up into that clear gaze and an instant later dared to do something he had never done before. "Oh, Jim," he said softly and pulled his larger friend into a desperate embrace. Ellison let himself be held for a long moment then slowly returned the embrace, arms strong and deliberate. With a renewed sense that things might be okay, Blair drew back smiling. 

It took time to get Jim out of Dr. Scott's clutches, papers had to be signed absolving the hospital of responsibility. The concerned doctor advised complete rest for at least 48 hours, and extracted a promise that they return at the first sign of trouble. Jim endured the obligatory wheelchair to the door, then Blair bundled him into a taxi and they were on the way to the loft. "You alright?" Blair asked. Jim hadn't said much at all since leaving the hospital and what he had said had been monosyllable. 

"Yeah." Another succinct answer followed by silence. Blair worried at the cause of Jim's episode, forming theories and dismissing them as he kept a close watch on his friend. A few blocks from their home, Jim turned, eyes locking with Blair's. "We okay here, Chief?" Jim asked suddenly. For a split second Blair saw something defeated glitter in his friend's eye and knew his partner wasn't talking about the taxi ride home. Then they were pulling up to 852 Prospect and he didn't have a chance to figure it out. 

"Yeah," Blair confirmed, "we're okay." Ellison needed help getting out of the cab, he swayed slightly and caught the door frame in a tight grip. Sandburg scrambled out, tossing a twenty to the driver for a five dollar fare and wrapped a strong arm around the detective's waist. "Easy, buddy," he advised. Sandburg could almost feel the cabbie's disapproving gaze as Jim pressed a hand to his forehead before nodding his readiness to move. They entered the building and headed for the elevator, Blair murmuring reassurances all the way. At one point Jim staggered, head tilting in the characteristic pose Sandburg recognized as his "listening" state. "Anything wrong?" Jim didn't answer, merely shook his head as if to clear it, so Blair urged him on. Once they reached the sanctuary of their apartment Ellison, eyelids drooping, asked for a drink. Blair got him settled on the couch before retreating to the kitchen for bottled water. 

"Jim?" Blair brushed his fingers along his partner's arm and watched as Ellison's eyelashes fluttered open in response. Jim lay, one arm tucked beneath his head, legs pulled up on the couch, drifting on the edge of sleep in the time it had taken Blair to get to the fridge and bring back his water. Early morning sunlight filtered through the balcony doors, and just like morning breaking to reveal a sky warm and blue, the trust swimming in Jim's eyes as he looked up at the younger man made Blair's heart skip a beat. 

"Chief," Jim sighed. 

"You are okay, right?" Blair asked, unnamed dread gripped his stomach like a phantom fist. In their time together, he'd seen his partner drugged, beaten and shot and those times had filled him with a fear he'd never thought himself capable of feeling before. But they were nothing compared to what he felt now. Jim, so strong, so resilient, had never seemed like just an ordinary man. Even if you discounted his sentinel abilities, he had superhuman determination, nerves of steel, and an invulnerable spirit. Blair, worshipping this paragon of strength from the first moment he'd witnessed Ellison in action, felt his heart squeezed painfully in his chest to see him now, lying on the couch, his skin waxy pale, eyes glazed and dull. Blair wanted to protect him, he wanted to shield Jim from any more pain. Never before had anyone other than his own mother kindled this sweet ache in his soul, he knew he would do whatever he had to to protect his partner and if that meant turning Cascade upside-down for an answer then by god he would do it. 

"Headache, Chief, that's all." Jim blinked up at him. Blair tried a smile, he pressed his lips together, tightening the muscles in his cheeks but pain drew his eyebrows low and his expression didn't fool his partner in the least. Before he knew it, Blair found himself pulled down against Jim's solid chest, held against that massive plane of muscle as if he were a child and comforted again when it had been his to offer. 

"Sorry," Blair murmured and pulled away. "I'm suppose to be taking care of you." 

Jim regarded him for a moment, face unreadable in the low light, and then one strong hand settled in Blair's curls, "you are. Believe me, you are." Silence filled the room, not a stiff, uncomfortable silence, but one filled with a thousand unsaid words expressed by nothing more than fingers twining around locks of hair. "Back there," Jim said, breaking the stillness, "you thought of something." He didn't make it a question, and Blair wasn't sure what to say in response. He had a inkling, a fragile thread of a thought but wasn't at all sure he could prove it or if he could, what it would do to Ellison. 

"Maybe," Sandburg hedged, the idea germinating in fertile imagination, and added, "but right now, you need some sleep." 

"Look, Chief," to Blair's surprise, Jim's cheeks took on much needed color, "it might be better if you slept upstairs again tonight.." Sandburg stared at him, instinctively knowing if he demurred Jim would let it pass. Still, the connection binding them closer and closer with each passing day said this was important, that he and his sentinel needed the physical contact which had sustained them so far. 

"Sounds good, Jim," Blair said, noting Ellison's relieved sigh and faint smile. Together, Jim's arm in its customary place across his shoulders, his own around Ellison's waist, they maneuvered up the stairs. The bed was just the way he'd left it that afternoon - rumpled, cozy - inviting. Just the memory of being in it, Jim holding him tight, their bodies entangled much as their lives had become, made Blair falter. 

"Sandburg?" 

Maybe now he could say it. Looking up into Jim's face, Blair found it wasn't hard at all to utter the words, "I love you." 

Ellison's eyes clouded for a moment, some shadow scuttled across their brilliant surface but then he smiled. "Me too, Chief," he said in a soft, solemn voice, "for a long time now." Blair didn't like that smile, he'd witnessed it before, the wistful set to Jim's lips seemed to hold more pain than happiness. 

"You don't understand," Blair said, "I love you so much it hurts." 

Jim dipped his head, his arms locking around Blair, pressing against the small of his back. "You don't have to say it, Blair," he whispered. The use of his given name brought with it a shimmering warmth, like walking down an asphalt road in mid-July. It spread from the soles of his feet right up to his heart. "Just say you're happy here with me." When he pulled back and looked up, Jim's eyes now glowed, radiant pools of blue shimmering like they had never done before. Blair wanted to cup that light in his palms, imagined dipping his hands into fluid emotion, feeling it cascade through his fingers, running freely over his upturned face until it washed him clean of fear, and loneliness and sorrow - until he bathed in Jim's love for him. Ellison's breath caught, the big man reached out, his fingers conveying what he could not say. Again Blair wondered how much pain it had taken to stop Jim's throat. How many people had judged James Ellison incapable of being hurt by their callous disregard and simply walked away? He knew how much love Jim was capable of, he gave it in buckets simply for acts of kindness. Show Jim Ellison a little affection and he would be devoted to you right until the moment you cut his heart to shreds. As bright as noonday sun, as sharp as a dagger, as beautiful as Jim's spirit, the moment flooded Blair's heart, drowning him. He gasped, the last barrier, the final wall between them shattered with that surprised breath. Blair's soul lay naked and held in the grasp of a man he would die to protect. He saw Jim's face change, some of the doubt dimmed, rays of hope shining bright in his eyes at that moment. Slowly, gently, Jim lowered his face, touching his forehead to Blair's, resting against his partner, stilling the world so they could find their feet and continue on this new path. 

Whatever Jim needed and wanted, whatever it would take to prove to his sentinel that this was where they were meant to be, Blair knew he would offer gladly. No matter how hard he had tried in the years they'd been together, Blair had never managed to convey his commitment to Jim. Blair knew blame rested on his shoulders - the dissertation, his ultimate goal in life, had always loomed between them like a tombstone. As soon as the words were chiseled upon its granite face Jim saw it as the end of their partnership, the knife which severed him from his lifeline. Ellison's fears of being left, of not being able to hold on to someone were so deep, so complete, he could barely function at times. All his life people had left him in their wake - they took what they wanted and when they found nothing more to their liking, they went away. He expected it, from family, from friends and from lovers. Jim craved affection but as much as he wanted some kind of closeness he pushed people away. Unable to believe their promises, the slightest possibility of dishonesty could send him into a towering rage, convinced he'd been played for a fool once again. No woman had ever passed the Ellison test making Blair suspect that subconsciously his friend was sabotaging himself, he went into a relationship anticipating its end, a self-fulfilling prophecy. Maybe he thought it wouldn't hurt so much, but his eyes told a different story. Blair knew he was the only person Jim had ever allowed himself to begin to trust, not a lot, but more than most. 

Blair wondered again for the millionth time when he peered up into Ellison's cornflower blue eyes, what his partner saw when he looked at Sandburg. Did he really see the image of Blair, dissertation in hand, leaving him, leaving their home? Jim would never try to stop him if he did walk away, Ellison would smile that shattered smile of his and say how happy he was for Blair. He would marvel at the opportunities a doctorate would provide, probably even spring for some great going away gift. That was Jim, never, ever let them know you needed them because saying it aloud would make the inevitable just that much more unbearable. Blair closed his eyes, controlling the pain inside him with a ruthless determination he hadn't known he possessed. Could he replace Jim's fears with the knowledge that whatever happened, they would face it together? He prayed he could. Sometimes Jim didn't seem capable of believing he was anything more than a rat in a maze, treading the course Sandburg dictated, studied, noted, labeled for all the world to discuss. Blair knew he now had the means to show his loyalty, to tear down the walls between them once and for all. 

"I want to make love to you," he whispered. "I want to feel your heart beating against mine." 

Jim chuckled, "you sound like Barbara Cartland." The laughter died in his throat when Blair stiffened and pulled away, hurt. "Chief," then gentling his voice but tightening his arms, "Blair. That's not what I meant to say." He leaned his cheek against Sandburg's curls, as if soaking in the warmth of his guide's body by that simple act. "I know you're scared, so am I. This is okay, we're okay." Slowly he eased them both down to the mattress, curling Blair's head onto his chest so that his ear rested over Jim's heart. "Hear that? That's you inside me, you're the strength to keep going." 

Blair refused to let a tear escape, mercilessly squeezing his eyes shut and concentrating on the feel of Jim's arms around him. They lay together for a long time, neither doing anything more than idly stroking a shoulder here, a hip there, hands sweeping over muscled planes, consummating the love between them in the gentlest of ways. As time passed, the two men switched positions, Blair rolling onto his back, cradling close the noble head, his fingers absently carding through Jim's hair. He wondered at the contrast; rock-hard body, velvety hair, skin smooth and warm as honey. Jim Ellison was a walking contradiction. Few people were allowed to witness the real man inside the image he'd perfected. It took time and patients, like those hearty souls who set out in the chilly morning air to catch a glimpse of a rare hummingbird. If you wanted a peek at the real James Ellison you sat in the cold and waited. It could be years before you got a good look at him, saw the fear he carried, the pain of knowing he was alone in the world, and the dogged struggle to overcome both and find someone who would accept him. When you finally saw that you understood how much he needed to be loved. Blair swallowed the lump which rose in throat but couldn't quite stifle the sorrow he felt. Jim stirred fitfully. "Ssssh," Blair whispered, "it's alright." He dropped a tender kiss into the downy hair and closed his eyes to wait. 

He knew the exact moment Jim fell asleep, felt the slight loosening of arms wrapped around his middle and took advantage by slipping free of the bed. He stared down at Jim's slumbering form, placed a quick kiss to his forehead, then stole down the steps. "Simon?" Blair kept his voice low, though Jim had become so accustomed to his partner's presence that any normal, non-threatening noise Blair made would never wake him. "No we're at the loft. He's better, but I need someone over here to watch him. No, nothing like that. I have to check something out and I don't want Jim left alone in case.....well, in case the seizures are something else." By the time Banks arrived Blair was dressed and waiting. "Thanks, man," he greeted quietly. "I just don't feel comfortable leaving him alone." 

"What's going on," Simon asked in equally hushed tones, dark eyes snapping with worry. 

"I don't have time to explain, Simon, please. Just...," he looked up at the bedroom, "just watch over him 'til I get back, okay?" Not waiting for the captain to answer, Blair left the loft. It was hours before dawn and cold air slapped his cheeks, making him duck his chin down into his collar. He pulled the truck keys from his pocket, sparing the third floor window a quick glance before climbing in and driving away. He didn't want to leave his sentinel's side for even a moment, but ever instinct he possessed screamed at him to protect his friend and this was the only way to even know what it was they were fighting. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Simon shot a glance up at the bedroom in imitation of Blair's earlier worried look. Damn, this was outside the realm of his experience, even where Ellison and his whacked out senses were concerned. Every since Sandburg had come along, spouting his sentinel mumbo-jumbo, things had gone from dangerous to weird and dangerous with Jim acting like a totally different person. Not that that was a bad thing, Jim Ellison partnered with Blair Sandburg was most definitely a good thing. The two men's relationship was just something he'd never gotten a handle on. Big brother - little brother? Teacher - student? Lovers or just good friends? All of the above? He couldn't define it even when he factored in the sentinel stuff, it was just so - unexpected. Seeing Sandburg emerge from Jim's bedroom, his hair a wild curtain around sleep softened features, had only confirmed what Simon had suspected all along but never permitted himself to really dwell on. It was like only buying the basic cable package and flipping past HBO, you knew something was going on there but you didn't know what. He'd always let that blank screen surround his perceptions of his best team, never before had he allowed himself to examine his suspicions of why Jim had taken a virtual stranger into his home. Ellison had a reputation as a loner, he dated but other than a disastrous six month marriage to Carolyn Plummer, he'd never committed. When Blair came on the scene, Simon knew some of his unease had caused him to made it rough for the kid, maybe unconsciously he'd been trying to protect Jim from something. Who knew what this long haired, flake might want? And Ellison had let him in, let this kid become vital to his life and the feelings he carried were visibly dazzling. Simon realized he'd had his doubts whether Blair understood, or wanted to understand, but there was no way to ignore it now, no doubt whatsoever in his mind that Sandburg loved his partner as much as Jim loved him. Simon couldn't believe he'd said as much to the kid there in the hospital, and Blair's surprised reaction, as if the faint chance it might be true - too much to hope for, couldn't have been faked. But Simon had known his detective for over five years, he'd watched Jim slowly change from an arrogant loner, to a decent, caring friend. And 90% of that change came as a direct result of Blair Sandburg's influence on him. 

Jim had never really been close to very many people. 'Hell', Simon thought, "it took me almost a year to find out he was a human being underneath all his posturing.' Sandburg, on the other hand, had gone from complete stranger to friend, to roommate in a month. Simon would never admit it, especially in light of his own evolving fondness for the kid, but he'd been jealous of the friendship which blossom before his eyes. Jim didn't take to people, he was courteous and extremely polite, but he remained aloof. He would help in any way he could, but he pulled back as soon as it became apparent more might be expected than just his help. So when Jim had started hanging around with this neo-hippie kid, and then let Sandburg move into the loft, Simon had been convinced either Jim was a pod person or Sandburg had mystical powers. If Ellison's sentinel abilities hadn't brought Blair Sandburg into his life when they did, Simon knew his best detective would have probably turned into a liability. Simon shook his head, still amazed by Sandburg's ability to cope, he'd seemed like such a pushover when Jim had first brought Blair into the station. Simon wouldn't have given odds on the kid lasting a week in Ellison's presence much less three years. With his long hair, earrings, and unlimited energy, Blair came across as a hyperactive flake but Sandburg was tough and strong, as strong, in his own way, as Ellison. He'd stuck with Jim, he weathered the older man's temper, controlling it with a skill no one had ever possessed, he talked and Jim listened, he guided Ellison when there was no path open but the one Sandburg made for them. 

Blair proved his powers over the course of a few months. Jim settled down, his temper, always simmering, could be held in check merely by Sandburg's hand on his arm. The detective began to open up, he made friends in the department, he carved a niche for Blair beside him so that his partner fell under his umbrella of protection and respect until Blair earned it for himself. Not that Jim didn't usually have Blair pressed close to his side, an energetic shadow. Never before had Simon witnessed such casual affection. Jim couldn't resist ruffling his partner's long hair, or tapping him on the head or draping an arm around his shoulders. Banks got use to seeing Sandburg and Ellison walking with their arms around each other, heads close as they whispered intently. They'd become one entity "JimandBlair", Simon couldn't think of one man without his brain automatically supplying an image of the other. He smiled, laughing softly as he visualized Sandburg a step behind his larger partner and slightly to the right, in a perfect position for accepting the cell phone thrust into his hand. And Jim's face whenever the kid proved valuable on a case - he looked like a proud parent watching his child take his first steps. That smile, bright and unexpected like a light switch thrown in a blackened room, said it all for Banks. The Sandburg- Ellison relationship was no bed of roses, they fought, they argued, they snapped at each other, but that light in Jim's eyes never dimmed. 

And as brilliantly visible as Ellison's feelings for Sandburg were, they paled in the face of Blair's own when Jim did his sentinel stuff. At first Simon had been convinced Sandburg merely had a bad case of hero worship, only later had he learned it was "Jim worship". Sandburg thought his partner walked on water, he would do anything to make Jim happy, to keep him safe. He knew what his sentinel needed and provided it with no fanfare and little fuss. Simon had watched the younger man spend hours chattering non-stop just because Jim needed distracting from pain, or weariness or boredom. Simon once asked Jim what in the hell Blair went on non-stop about all the time and Ellison had shrugged. His detective honestly had no idea what Blair said half the time, he admitted to tuning out the kid's words and listening only to his tone, letting it wash over him until he relaxed completely. It led to some fairly odd conversations, or rather, lectures, since Jim rarely commented unless something really peculiar caught his attention. But on the other hand, Simon had been with them as the two men sat in silence, Blair utterly still for hours on end until Jim signaled a move. Blair had the uncanny ability to be exactly what Jim needed, and Jim needed his partner. 

Since this case's start Jim seemed to be fading, losing something vital. He tended to be slender despite the bulk of muscle long hours at the gym packed on him, but lately to Simon's critical eye, Ellison appeared gaunt. He knew his detective wasn't feeling well, Blair was fussing around him worse than usual, doing everything he could think of to make the older man comfortable. Sandburg never hesitated to chew out anyone who did the unthinkable - upset his sentinel's senses. In the passed three days the grad student had ripped hide off a new officer for wearing too much perfume, and a maintenance man for using solvent too close to the detective's desk. But even as Simon thought about it, he realized it wasn't so much a physical deterioration taking place but a spiritual one. The quick flashes of humor, the sparkling smile which blazed whenever Sandburg amused him, the compassion he could never hide, was withering, if this kept up there would be nothing left of Jim but a shell. Simon sucked in a steadying breath, telling himself Sandburg would solve the problem - he had to. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The moment Blair had been dreading arrived less than twenty minutes after he got to the station. He settled into that half-world existence Cascade PD became after sunset, lulled as ever by the surreal atmosphere. Criminals took to the streets after dark, so did the cops, leaving in their wake at the station a skeleton crew of officers creating their own little world. Blair liked the night shift, he'd pulled it with Jim several times and the odd memories it fabricated clung to him like Saran Wrap, sealing in a mixture of awed wonder and bitter disappointment. Henri Brown took a seat on the edge of Jim's desk, casually looking at the array of papers spread across the detective's desk. "How's it going, H.?" Blair asked, glancing up then returning his attention to the file he was reading. A round of small talk followed, a subtle game of fishing, which eventually led to the crux of the matter. 

"So, how's Jim?" Brown tossed the question lightly, his casual attitude not disguising the nervous shift of his eyes. 

Blair struggled to answer, he wanted to balance truth with Jim's need for privacy, "you know Jim's allergies." It wasn't a question but Brown nodded. The sight of Detective James Ellison, Cop of the Year, and all around hard-ass cop gasping for breath and crumpling like a used gunwrapper had assured his allergic reactions to chemicals of all kind became legend in Major Crimes. Returning after a long weekend, he and Jim stepped off the elevator, Jim wrinkled his nose in disgust and before he could even wonder what the sentinel smelled, Jim began to cough. He'd waved away Blair's initial attempt to help but a moment later his intermittent coughing gave way to a labored wheeze then breathless gasping. Those in the bullpen had watched in horror as Ellison staggered, his knees buckling, only to be caught by Simon Banks on one side and Blair on the other. Later they determined maintenance had used solvent on a floor just above the bullpen but at that moment panic turned the scene into a nightmare. Getting Ellison out of the fumes revived him and he'd flatly refused a trip to the ER but he'd been violently ill the rest of that day. The next he'd dreaded coming into the station, embarrassed, sure his fellow detectives would think less of him for displaying a weakness. Perversely enough what Jim saw as weakness made him appear more human to his friends. Instead of Super-Cop Ellison, they discovered a man with frailties just like themselves. In their own way they became just a bit more protective of Jim, something Blair doubted his partner acknowledged or even recognized, but which he saw clearly, and it touched him deeply. "We think there's something at the crime scenes he reacting to," Blair answered Henri, "something we can't pinpoint yet." 

"You'll figure it out, Hairboy," Henri said with a nod, "you always do." He left Sandburg feeling a little better by that vote of confidence. Blair spent another hour studying the files of all three cases, convinced the answer lay right under his nose. Only when the day shift began drifting in did Blair think about returning to the loft. He didn't want to give up, but he couldn't force the solution into his tired brain. With an exhausted sigh, he closed the file, switched off the desk lamp and headed for home. Simon would be anxious, he'd want to know if Blair had discovered anything and Blair hated to have to disappoint him. He arrived to a darkened apartment and the sight of Simon Banks sprawled in the small yellow chair looking like Gulliver in Lilliput. 

He tapped the police captain on the shoulder, and grinned into Simon's sleepy brown eyes. "Hey, we've got beds here, you know." 

"I know," Simon groused, rubbing feeling back into his left arm, "but Jim seemed restless. I was afraid he might.....wander off." Banks shrugged. Blair chuckled. 

"You want to stay?" Blair couldn't help but notice Banks' skittish gaze, and realized Simon harbored some reluctance. "Uh, Simon, about me and Jim......" 

"It's none of my business," Banks' said gruffly. 

"No, it's not," Blair said and watched Simon's surprised expression give way to a rueful grin, "I like to think you're my friend as well as Jim's so I'll tell you this - Jim and I are close, bound up in a way I can't explain, but we haven't stepped over that line," he hesitated then said softly, "but we will." 

Simon stared at him a moment then huffed a laugh, "could have fooled me. You and Jim," he looked up at the loft bedroom, "you and Jim are just so damn - complete." He shook his head again. "I'd like to stay, Blair." 

Sandburg grinned. He got Simon settled in his room before trudging up the stairs to where Jim was sleeping. He looked down at the man he loved more than he would ever have thought possible to love another soul and closed his eyes. He stripped off his clothes, tossing them on the floor with the knowledge he'd have to put them back on in a few hours. Jim lay on his side but as soon as Blair climbed into bed, the older man rolled up against him. Still asleep, warm and welcoming, Jim wrapped an arm around his partner. Sandburg smiled, nestled close into this embrace and fell asleep. 

~~~~~ 

Morning had come and gone before anyone in the loft stirred. Simon left just after noon but called back on his cell phone almost immediately to advise both men not to leave the loft. 'Reporters are camped out on your doorstep, Jim,' Banks had warned. It was decided that Jim would take two days off to recuperate and Blair arranged to have someone cover his classes so he could stay close to his partner. They were relaxing, Blair alternately reading through a pile of books hauled from a box in the basement and the case files while Jim dozing on and off. It was while reading through the list of items Prints had dusted that possible answers brought Sandburg to a screeching halt, his interrogation skills taking over. 

"I don't remember a thing, Chief," Jim said for the third time. He lay comfortably ensconced in Blair's room, Blair insisting on this arrangement just in case the seizure turned out to be something more. Jim indulged him, complaining about mother hens and their sentinels but still looking far too exhausted to make it serious. 

"Come on, Jim," Blair coaxed, "try. Just close your eyes, breath deeply and relax." For a moment the sentinel complied, he'd almost achieved the restful state Blair liked him to find before they went to work on something he had to pull from his memory. And then Jim stiffen, his breath faltered, fingers convulsing on the sheet. Blair reached forward just as a groan broke from Jim's lips and he fell back on the bed. 

"'Carolyn's in the hall," Jim said a second later. Sandburg's shaking knees deposited him on the mattress beside the detective. He sat a full ten seconds deciding whether to kill Jim for scaring him or face the unpleasantness which waited in their hallway. Despite Jim's reaction, Blair wasn't prepared for the jolt of jealousy which flashed through him. His partner must have seen it for an instant later he favored Blair with a look. Never in the history of their partnership had Blair seen such an unguarded expression cross his friend's face - within those clear eyes he saw love and devotion. His own green-eyed monster evaporated, banished to distant shores. When he reached the door and opened it for Carolyn, Blair did so with a welcoming smile. 

"Carolyn, what a nice surprise." Jim's ex-wife barely spared him a civilized glance before bustling into the loft. "Come in," Blair said to her back as the woman came to a halt in their living room. 

"Where's Jim?" she demanded. It had been almost two years since their last meeting but Blair felt the familiar unease she stirred within him. 

"Carolyn, Jim really isn't well enough for this," he protested but the woman spun on him, eyes blazing. 

"Not well? You mean all that crap the reporters are shouting at me is true?" 

"What did they tell you?" Blair closed the front door, wishing he could bolt through it for the simple, uncomplicated life of a vagrant. Carolyn eyed him a moment, her gaze clearly suggesting he might be closer to a vagrant than he thought. His relationship with his partner's ex-wife was tenuous at best. She had phoned several times since moving to San Fransisco to speak with Jim and met him twice for dinner when she came back to Cascade. Each of those times, her demeanor towards Blair had been cool, professional but far from friendly. He got the distinct impression they had been rivals since the moment he'd moved in with Jim. 

"That Jim had collapsed at a crime scene and been admitted to the hospital." Carolyn's expression took on a hard edge, the way she was acting Blair half expected her to have him declared unfit to care for Ellison and take over the job herself. "One of them also said you , Sandburg," she managed to make his name sound like an insult, "checked him out in the middle of the night after he had some kind of seizure." 

Incensed by the implication of stupidity on his part, Blair hissed, "so you come busting into our home....." 

"Our home? As far as I know the only name on this place is James Ellison," she snapped. 

"Not for the last year and a half, now it's Sandburg and Ellison." Jim's voice startled them both but it was Blair who recovered first. He dashed to his partner's side, hovering uncertainly. "Carolyn, what brings you to Cascade?" Jim asked. 

"Simon called me," she said but at Jim's frown added hastily, "about the case - he needed some forensics help." A lightning quick look passed between the partners, the tail end of two smirks flashing then disappearing. The forensics department was understaffed and working without an official chief. Carolyn's replacement, Cassie Wells, had been fired for alleged misappropriations of funds and though Serena Chang was acting as head of the department she had a better offer from Tacoma and would be leaving soon. Simon, no doubt, wanted to wrap up the case as quickly as possible and asked for help. "I volunteered to come up and lend a hand." She moved closer, reaching out to touch Jim's arm, then lifted herself to kiss his lips. "I was worried, Jimmy," she said quietly. 

Blair stood his ground, refusing to be driven from his partner's side and in the end Carolyn backed off. She retreated to the couch, sinking onto it with a sigh. Jim followed her, taking a seat on the smaller couch, scooting over so that Blair could join him there. "Thanks, but I'm fine, really." He did look a hundred percent better but Carolyn's skeptical scowl made Blair take a harder look. His partner still appeared much too pale, his eyes held a trace of last night's uncertainty as if events were still going too fast. Blair longed to curl a protective arm over those wide shoulders and stay like that for the rest of his life and Jim's but the sentinel would never allow himself to be cosseted while people around him were in danger. Ellison seemed to read his Blair's thoughts, patting his partner's knee he said, "I'm just tired." 

"Any idea what caused your....," Carolyn hesitated, "episode?" 

"Sandburg has a few," Jim admitted, a strange mixture of pride and sadness in his expression when he glanced at Sandburg's surprised face. A moment later he grinned, looking from Blair to Carolyn and back. "Chief, why don't you get with Carolyn on this? She would be a great help." Blair felt the hum of activity in his brain shut down, dazed by what Jim was asking. The silence, complete and all encompassing, cut him off from the power of speech. He blinked a few times, even cast Carolyn a disbelieving look, only to find her equally stunned by the suggestion. "Wha'daya say?" 

"Fine." The word popped out before Blair could stop it. He wanted to retract his approval but Jim was nodding and looking much happier than he had. Carolyn shot him a venomous look but remained mute. "I'll just get my notes........" Blair rose, and just before he got to his room heard Carolyn's strained voice. 

"Jimmy, are you sure about this?" 

"I don't ask much," Jim replied, "can you do this for my sake?" Blair didn't listen for her answer but when he came back, she offered a slight smile. 

"What have you got.....Blair?" Blair gave her points for trying. 

They went over the file, detail by detail, looking for anything that might pose a threat to a child. "You think the kids left voluntarily?" Carolyn asked after Blair's initial observations. 

"Yeah, what else fits? Both houses had alarms, the security codes had been punched by someone in the house. Those kids just walked away." 

Carolyn absorbed that in silence, shooting a look towards Jim, who nodded, before saying, "You're thinking chemical control or subliminal messages, that sort of thing. Why not just a big, friendly neighbor with candy?" 

"No evidence," Jim cut in. "As far as we can tell, they did just walk away." 

"And Jim reacted to something at the scene," Blair reminded her. "It could be a scent or sound or even their pet. One had a guinea pig the other goldfish in a bowl," he said. Blair stressed the importance of thinking about sensitive neural systems, anything which might affect someone susceptible to stimuli. Carolyn kept pace with him, firing questions at the appropriate places and making keen observations. During the whole exchange Ellison sat quietly, the ghost of a smile touching his lips, some indefinable light in his eyes. In an hour, they'd complied a list of thirty situations and objects ranging from carpet cleaning to electronic equipment. "So I want to go over everything on this list, where it came from, how the Switzer's got it, if the Braithwaite's have anything similar." Sometime during their discussion Blair had moved over to where she sat, now they had their heads together, intent on the scattered papers. Jim threw in a thought from time to time but mostly sat watching them. Blair, glancing up, caught his partner's pleased expression and smiled in return. He knew Jim cared for Caroyn, they had shared something once, and Ellison was nothing if not loyal. "I think you're right," Carolyn agreed some time later. 

"Why don't we....," Jim began. 

"No." Blair cut him off quickly. "You aren't going anywhere." A choking sound came from Carolyn's direction and Sandburg turned to find her staring in open mouthed shock. One hard glare and she grew quiet. "Dr. Scott said rest, and that's exactly what you're going to do." 

"Sandburg." Jim sat forward but Blair cut him off before he could attempt to rise. 

"You've got to take it easy," Blair told him gently. Despite having only sat on the couch listening, Jim's skin had taken on a chalky pallor and his eyes were narrowed with pain. Blair bit his lip, hesitant to spark his partner's ire but Ellison wasn't up to traipsing around Cascade looking for evidence games at the moment. Help came from an unexpected quarter. 

"I don't think I'd argue," Carolyn added. "You seem to have acquired yourself a full-time nanny, Jim," she grinned at her ex-husband's uncomfortable expression. 

Jim gave up, resigned to invalid status for the time being. He dutifully went back to Blair's room, trailed by his friend. "It's for your own good," Blair insisted, holding back the blankets for Jim to slip under. Ellison chuckled. 

"If you really felt that way, you could tuck me in properly with a good- night kiss." Now it was Blair's turn to chuckle, this new level of intimacy felt exactly like their old friendship only......better, freer. A wondrous door had opened permitting them a wider expression for the feelings both had carried deep inside. Sandburg made a show of pulling the covers up and smoothing them carefully then shot a look towards the open French doors. 

"And what would Carolyn think of me, taking advantage of the infirmed?" he teased. 

"That you're a letch?" 

Blair bent over him, mouth quirked into a grudging smile. He leaned in as Jim raised expectantly to meet his lips but at the last second planted only a chaste kiss on the detective's forehead. "Rest," Sandburg ordered. Jim flopped back onto the pillow with a sigh. 

"What else is there for me to do?" 

Blair grinned, snapped off the light and closed the door quietly. As much as he longed to stay there, preferably snuggled against the other man's chest, he knew what he had to do. "He is okay, isn't he?" Carolyn asked once they reached the elevator. 

"He will be." 

"Good." They took his car, Carolyn eyeing the green Volvo with something close to terror but gamely climbing inside. They drove in silence though it wasn't the easy silence he knew with Ellison. Blair felt her uncertainty, the internal struggle of wanting to know more pitted against arrogant disdain. For so long it had been Carolyn Plummer alone who carried intimate knowledge of the puzzle named James Ellison. Anyone wanting firsthand information came to her. She wasn't happy about being usurped and it showed. Blair concentrated on driving for a moment, then glanced over at her. Carolyn ran a hand through her hair, twisting the locks around her fingers before dropping her hands to her lap. "It's just so...weird seeing him like that." She shrugged, "James Ellison, vulnerable." 

"Jim isn't invincible," Blair told her, "he can be hurt by a lot of things." 

"Was that a criticism?" Carolyn turned to him, brows knitted. 

"I do not want to have this conversation," Blair said quietly. He could feel her eyes on him and resisted the urge to look at her. Obviously Carolyn needed no encouragement. 

"You think you know him, don't you?" Carolyn's tone, so sympathetic, so filled with compassionate understanding, grated. "He won't let you in. The harder you try, the more he'll close himself off. I know." She said that last, chin raised, eyes shimmering, a martyr to the end. 

Blair bit his tongue. He didn't want to blurt out the truth, how could he explain to this woman his need for Jim, Jim's for him? What would that sound like to anyone else's ear? Would she accuse him of being vain? Of having some kind of Hallmark Moment fantasy? There seemed no words available in any of the languages he spoke to describe what he and his sentinel shared. Now that Jim knew what he was, had opened himself up and seen the difference he'd never understood before, he could try and relate to others. They were connected - he and Jim, and he in return connected Jim to the world, provided the sentinel with a filter, a buffer, the key he had been lacking for so long and that relationship coupled with deep affection had melded into something so much more. They were together more than anyone even realized; at work, at home, on vacation. No more than a few hours a day were they parted and that closeness only accentuated the desire for such intimate contact. 

Blair resolutely clamped his mouth closed to keep from telling Carolyn that while she had married Jim out of affection, he and Jim were bound by something even deeper and older. He and Jim were soul-mates, two people meant to be together despite everything thrown at them to keep them apart; age, interests, jobs, friends. God, when he thought of the sheer luck which had precipitated their meeting, a chance remark by a casual lover, Sandburg broke out in a cold sweat. Destiny, Fate, Kismet, whatever its tenuous beginnings, it was sheathed in steel. Oh, not that their partnership was hearts and roses, they squabbled, they fought, Jim snapped at him when fear took over, but instinctively they sought out each other at the end of the day knowing their home was together. Carolyn didn't look in the mood to take such revelations right then so Blair let it drop. They finished their drive in silence but their entrance into the bullpen was anything but. Murmurs rose up around them like fog, one or two of the older detectives knew her as the former forensics head and called out polite greetings. The majority, however, just seemed curious as to why she was with Sandburg. Banks, perched on the corner of Rafe's desk like a scowling black Buddha, rose, smiling fondly at Plummer, kissing her cheek in affection. They had always been friends, both there to prove themselves in a middle class white man's world, a bond, tested and proven, still existed and it showed. Simon exchanged pleasantries with her then asked the question all the detective's were waiting to have answered, "how's Jim doing?" 

"Fine...," Carolyn faltered, cheeks flaming when she realized this simple question hadn't been directed at her. 

"Yeah," Blair agreed quickly, "he's doing good." Relieved words tumbled out of the Major Crime team, Ellison could be a hard ass, but he was a true friend to everyone there. Most of the detectives offering support and encouragement to Sandburg didn't know Carolyn's history with their star detective, they knew only the depth of connection between Ellison and his unofficial partner, something they witnessed daily. Simon ended the gathering with a brusque invitation to get back to work and ushered Carolyn and Blair into his office. He got right down to business. 

"What is this wild hare, Sandburg?" 

"Jeez, Simon," Blair said, shaking his head, "it's a theory. Do I need you to call Jim and get him to endorse it?" He asked with a grin but an underlying current of resentment made Banks sit up and take notice. 

"Calm down, Sandburg," Banks placated, "spell this out for an old war horse like me." 

Blair gave a brief explanation, laying out his theory in layman terms and telling Simon exactly what he wanted. "So Carolyn and I need to poke around a bit - see if there's anything connected." 

Banks blinked quietly, his gaze shifted to Carolyn and it was all Blair could do not to turn and gauge her expression. Whatever she indicated, it elicited a grudging nod from the police captain. "Okay," he said, "go for it." Blair bounced to his feet. "Just don't get in trouble! If you get into something bad I don't want to have to explain it to Ellison." 

@@@@@@@@@ 

Panic pulled him from sleep like a hand reaching into the water and retrieving a drowning man. Jim sucked in a gasping breath, for one wild moment certain he'd lost Blair to the thing which had pursued him. Memory returned and with it some measure of control - Blair and Carolyn had gone to the PD. Blair was safe. Jim wiped at the sweat beading his upper lip and flopped back onto a damp pillow. The dull ache in his temples sharpened, becoming a persistent throb hammering within the very marrow of his bones. He closed his eyes, but that only made the darkness close more tightly around him. Deep as a crack in the earth, cold as a lonely grave, the void existed within him. Ellison shivered, tugging at the blankets he had kicked off during sleep, wrapping himself within them. Years ago, as a child, such a shield offered protection from monsters of all descriptions, these carried Blair's scent, making them doubly effective at chasing away bad things. But something had entered his sanctuary, come through with his nightmare. It buzzed in the ears, never close enough to be swatted, always out of reach but wearing him down with the effort. He was so tired, his limbs were more like lead weights than parts of his body, they chained him to the bed, making him unable to rise from it. Doctor Scott's warnings had been clear but this dragging exhaustion seemed to have created a sticky web from which he couldn't escape. Ellison rolled onto his back staring up at the ceiling, thinking about Blair until the line of boards above him blurred, the precise pattern growing twisted and strange. Past and present collided in that swirling design, and James Ellison found himself as frightened as he'd been as a six year old boy. 

All his life a recurring nightmare had plagued the detective. In it a faceless thing, made more horrifying because it defied the extraordinary scope of his senses, waited for him. It called to him using other people's voices, the words a jumble he couldn't understand or ignore. There in the darkness of his dreams it had no form, just a black void within his head - more an absence than an entity. And it terrified him. Even as young as he'd been, Jim knew one touch from its hand would destroy him, it would suck him into the emptiness where he would be alone in inky blackness for all eternity. He spent years running from it, waking himself with his screams. His mother's comforting arms gave way to his father's disdainful commands to grow up, act like a man not an infant and even that had been a blessing, showing he wasn't alone. In the years since, this nightmarish shape had come close several times, changing, evolving but never showing its true form. There had been times when its cold grip caught his sleeve but with Blair's entrance into his life Jim could have sworn it banished back into the realm of his battered psyche. Now it whispered again, the sound of its voice buzzing around him, stinging his brain until he thought he would go mad. Using the last ounce of his strength, Jim called his partner's face into his mind, concentrating so hard that if it hadn't been for the torturous noise he couldn't escape, he would have zoned. He needed Blair so much, more than he'd ever wanted to need someone. 

Sandburg. There must truly be a God, a merciful being who had sent this whirling dervish of a student into his life and for that Jim thanked the Fates everyday. Sandburg's acceptance of him, his refusal to be pushed away was the single most precious gift Jim had ever been given. Blair made it all okay, anything he threw at the younger man, Blair went with it, uncovered an explanation and found a way to deal with it. He treated Jim's collection of nightmares as if normal people woke screaming every night, coming up those stairs each time though he had to be repulsed by such a display. Each time Jim swore he would keep himself from calling out but there was something perversely comforting in waking from such mindless fear and knowing someone cared enough to hurt right along with you. He let Blair in, certain that together the faceless horror couldn't possibly do him harm, and miraculously it seemed like Blair vanquished it little by little. Maybe one day it would all go away and when it did maybe Jim would be whole. 

Until then he had to endure. For over a week he'd sensed something, a sinister guest lurking nearby. He would catch it out of the corner of his eye but turn to find nothing there. He'd hinted to Sandburg, feeling out the lay of the land like the Army had taught him. Slowly working his way across a mindfield on his belly, jabbing the earth and hoping it didn't blow up in his face. He couldn't say it outright, couldn't let Blair know he was being stalked by a childhood nightmare, it was too weird, too close to being insane. He couldn't risk having Blair look at him with pity in his eyes. So the thing grew. It feasted on his exhaustion, growing fat on his pain and confusion. There in the stillness, lurking at every crime scene, invading the sanctuary of the loft, creeping silently yet heard, he could feel his old nemesis looming closer and closer. He could not explain it - not to Simon and not to Blair. His guide was worried, Jim knew that. Blair's concerned looks were almost constant now, but sharing it would only make it more real, give the apparition shape. He didn't think he could fight it, he could feel his strength ebbing, taking with it his spirit and the indomitable will which had been his only protection in the world. 

Blair's strength was all he had right now, Jim knew his guide's spirit was powerful, Incacha had sensed it as well. He prayed it would be enough to keep them both safe, to push away the thing which stalked closer every time he closed his eyes. Blair never realized how much Jim counted on him, how often he's used his partner's strength when he didn't think he could go one more step. His partner had been there beside him for three year, Blair's shoulder, unbending and unshakable, propping Jim up when he couldn't go on. His partner's kindness, his compassion for those in pain was so great he could overlook Jim's cruel streak and still care for him, still protect him. That thought, so amazing, closed Jim's throat with a sweet pain, and it was all he could do to keep from weeping. To imagine that someone could look at him and see passed the cold hard shell he had cultivated so determinedly, could understand the fear which made him lash out, and could forgive him for it all, meant more to Jim than life. Sandburg had been his salvation, the miracle he'd needed, Blair had redeemed a life spinning out of control with nothing more than his friendship and devotion. 

Jim knew without a doubt that his future without Blair would have gone one of two ways: a bullet through the heart when his senses betrayed him, or lingering oblivion hooked to some machine in a hospital, lost in a permanent zone out. His life had been going to hell when Blair stepped in, even before that there had been a sense of dread. Since the first moment he'd realized no one else saw, felt, heard or touched the world like he did, isolation had been his prison, and locked inside it the real James J. Ellison - the sentinel he truly was - had begun to wither. He hadn't known it for a long time, those years in between childhood and Peru, he didn't even remember what he could do but later - the truth had almost destroyed him. There were times he prayed for his senses to go away, times when he had succeeded in shutting them down, but those times he'd been hollow. He'd never told Blair how empty he felt when he turned away from being a sentinel, but it had been kind of like being a walking corpse. And when they came back, when he let himself embrace the gift he'd been given, he did it only because Blair said it would be okay, because Blair promised to stand beside him. The one element always missing had been that connection, the lens through which he could focus his incredible sight, the translator of what he saw and heard, the insulation which muted his pain - his guide. 

Blair had come along and like a length of golden chain; slender, supple, shining, anchored Jim to reality. A small voice, one shackled but insistent, told him Blair would leave one day, they all left eventually, he was powerless to prevent it. And yet having been allowed finally to taste his birthright, the purpose for which he had been born and which had always been denied, Jim no longer feared that end, the lonely isolation of his guide's goodbye. He could let go knowing his presence in Blair's life, his freakish abilities had served a purpose much greater than anything he could have imagined. With his dissertation in hand, Blair would be able to do as he pleased, he would command respect as was his due. Because of Jim he would have that brass ring he so wanted - so deserved. Though Jim often feared the harm he'd done to his guide by pulling him into the black place he called home, maybe it hadn't been for naught. Even his experience at the PD might prove an asset - maybe Blair would learn that not everyone was as generous and kind as he was and he would be more prepared, less naïve. 

And maybe, just maybe, Blair would look back on this point in his life and understand that Jim had loved him. It wasn't a beautiful love, Jim's experiences were not pages torn out of a novel or slow dances in a cinematic rain, this was a love which showed itself in House Rules and lectures, in careful hands on a wound and rough affection. It was all he had and he hoped to hell one day Sandburg would see it for what it had been. Jim sighed, reaching out blindly to drag a pillow up and clamp it over his face. Blair enveloped him, like an intravenous injection Blair surged through his veins. He craved his partner's affection, the gentle caring which had always come from the younger man's soul and soothed away the pain. Ellison didn't care that it might be just Blair's way of keeping his lab rat happy and healthy, the affection a scientist might feel for his pet, Blair made him feel loved. The simple things, making sure he ate properly, bringing him aspirin for his headaches, finding laundry soap which didn't give him a rash, these were the things which made Jim's chest ache. It had been years since anyone had troubled themselves with his needs, but Sandburg strove to make him comfortable, to take care of him. He remembered the first time Blair had done it, the unease Sandburg's attention to him brought soon gave way to a longing that now made him cringe remembering the specter his own pathetic neediness. Still he couldn't help hoarding the memory like a miser clutched gold, he took it out only in the dark of night when he was all alone and turned it over and over in his mind. 

Two years ago, the misery of flu so magnified by his heightened senses until he wanted nothing more than to die swiftly, Blair had shown him kindness and love. Gentle caring lavished generously upon him had made Jim curl up in fear, fear that Blair would see how much he wanted someone to love him. His partner had pulled him close, feathering his brow with tender touches, crooning nonsense just to soothe his frayed senses. Right then, surrounded by Sandburg's affection for him, Jim felt himself lost. He surrendered, a misty glaze filled his eyes, mistaken for that of pain, it shattered the reservoir nestled within his heart and sent the love he carried inside, too large to be contained in such a small space, spilling over. He'd cared about Sandburg from the day they met, felt gratitude to him for saving his sanity, but at that moment Jim knew he would never love anyone the way he did Blair. Blair had convinced himself he loved Jim, said he did, acted like he did. Jim squeezed his eyes closed, remembering the echoing tears in Sandburg's eyes that day so long ago, the desperate embrace which had held him. Could it be true? Ellison whispered his partner's name, saying it louder and louder, needing it to drown out the ear splitting shriek ringing inside his head. 

########### 

"So you knew about the loft?" Carolyn studied the room intently, her gaze sweeping every feature. "About your name being on the deed?" 

Blair faltered a second, unsure how to answer her question. By mutual agreement they'd driven to the Braithwaite's and were going back over their missing son's room. Kevin Braithwaite owned a collection of video game systems; Nintendo, GameBoy, Dream Cast, a huge pile of games for each player, stacks of CDs, a VCR and tapes, a chemistry set, and a guinea pig. It would take both Carolyn and him a while to gather the small mountain of objects they wanted to study. "Yeah," Blair finally answered, "I knew." He hesitated but an overpowering need, maybe some part of it malevolent in his wanting Carolyn to know what she had tossed away, but mostly to show Jim had someone to care for him, made him continue, "Last year Jim threw me a blowout birthday party at this little bar close to the U." He glanced over at his partner's ex, saw her faint smile. "Singing, dancing, people having the time of their lives. Even Jim had a great time and you know he doesn't like noisy parties." 

"Yeah," Carolyn sighed, "I know." 

"Anyway," Blair paused. He cleared his throat, but couldn't put into words the halting memory. If he lived a hundred years he'd never forget what happened when they got home, how Jim had unlocked the door and walked into the dark loft without flipping on the light. Blair stood a moment, 'uh, Jim?" he'd called. A match flared, lighting Jim's face then moving to a candle placed on the dining room table. "No cake, Sandburg," Jim said, "but I got you this." Pulled by a force he was powerless to resist, Blair crossed to him and, with a trembling hand, took the stiff enveloped Ellison held out. The shy, almost fearful, look on Jim's face kindled the blackest dread, but he read the letter. And then kept reading it until his eyes blurred and he couldn't see the words anymore, but by then he knew them by heart. He looked up in time to see Jim's expression change, he looked contented, relieved, as if he'd waited a long time to do this and now the anticipation was ending. Blair, moved by instinct, threw himself into his partner's arms. "I don't know what to say," he'd mumbled into the massive chest. Ellison pulled him into a bone-crushing hug, his chin resting against Blair's temple so that his words echoed through the smaller man's body. "Just don't get any ideas about a second mortgage to finance some kind of expedition, Chief." Blair hugged that memory to himself, knowing he couldn't share it with Carolyn. He tried again, finally getting out the words, "Jim told me my name was on the deed." He could not give away the memory of that soft voice, the look in his partner's eyes when he'd given away half his home to a stray pup. 

Carolyn's mouth compressed in a thin line but somehow a sigh escaped, coming close to sounding like a hiss. "You know, I never liked that place. Jim loved it, thought it was the center of the world but I kept thinking "warehouse"." She gave a dramatic shudder and Blair chuckle. When he'd first moved in the loft hadn't been exactly inviting with its bare walls and sparse furnishings. He believed at the time, Jim's senses were awakening, and instinctively the sentinel had tried to limit his sensory awareness. Even now Jim couldn't handle too much new stuff at once, maybe it was the smell or the encroachment into his territory or something, but whatever it was, anything new added to their home was done one piece at a time. Once the sentinel got use to an object, it became just that - an object. Blair experimented with moving the furniture or making small changes like slipcovers and these never bothered the sentinel once he'd become familiar with something, but given the choice Jim would never go out and buy new stuff all at once. 

"I wanted a real home," Carolyn went on, "one we could grow into, maybe have kids someday." Her expression darkened, filling with sympathetic sorrow as she gazed around the boy's room they were now searching. "But you know Jimmy, he wouldn't budge." They searched in silence for some time after that, both thinking their own thoughts. "That little room......your bedroom," Carolyn's tone brought Blair's head up, gaze fixed on her. "I thought it would make a nice nursery but I ended up sleeping there most nights." Blair made a desperate catch for the video cartridge which had just shot from his hand. "God, he use to scare me to death, waking up like that almost every night, thrashing around, yelling." She slammed the games she'd collected into a box, "even something as simple as a nightmare he refused to share with me." So much hurt, even after all this time, lingered in Carolyn's voice. With a start Blair realized he'd never been overly curious as to the content of his partner's nightmare, after the initial "want to talk about it" Blair'd realized Jim wouldn't or couldn't verbalize the horrible dreams so he'd merely offered his presence as proof Jim wasn't alone. Why hadn't Carolyn done the same, why flee when her husband needed someone with him? "It was like he wanted to carry everything himself," she whispered. "He wanted to show me how strong he was, how he could hold onto it all and never need my help." 

"No. No, it's not like that," Blair said quickly. "It's not that he's strong," he struggled for the words, "it's that he's......delicate." If he'd said that to anyone else they would have laughed. Jim Ellison, delicate? One look at that six foot frame packed with muscles and delicate was the last word which would be applied. But those people had never looked into his eyes. Jim's was a fragility not of body but of soul. Even now after all their work there were times he didn't know if Jim would hold together, if he could withstand the things life threw at him without sending into the dark place he feared so much. Blair swallowed hard, holding onto his belief in his partner's strength, his will to survive. There had been cracks in his walls for as long as Blair had known him. He'd watched Jim plaster over the worst ones, shutting off the pain in the only way he knew, but those hairline fractures were still there, endangering the whole structure. Sometimes he didn't think Jim could do it, one more loss and the man would shatter with all the force of a lifetime of hurt. "He can't let himself lean on anyone because he's afraid he'll fall when they.......," Blair shook his head, unable to say it aloud. Carolyn went on packing up games, oblivious to the scrutiny of a trained anthropologist but when she turned, her eyes found his as if she had been staring at him for a long time. 

"You won't leave." That was all she said. Blair made no reply, but knew his answer lay in his eyes, plain for her to see. Carolyn, nodded, her own expression thoughtful and slowly she smiled at him. Not with rancor, not with envy, not with malice, just a plain, simple smile of understanding, and relief? She didn't wait for his reaction, just walked out of the room, arms filled with the box. They carried it all to the car and headed to a small lab on Rainier's campus. 

~^~ 

A van rolled to a stop in deep shadow, the dark garbed figure slipped from behind the wheel like a darker shade falling to earth. 

~^~ 

The next time he woke might have been another nightmare, the temperature had plummeted to icy chill, while the walls dripped shadows and blackness pooled on the floor. Gone were the Sandburg scented pillows and his magic talisman of blankets, leaving him alone and shivering, vulnerable to the force he felt slinking ever closer. A deep resonate thrum held him in its grip, disjointed, endless. He could feel it creeping over him, winding around him like tentacles, burrowing, digging, finding the weak places in his soul and getting inside him. It vibrated his bones, it captured his heart, forcing it to beat with an alien rhythm. Jim moaned, caught like a fly, unable to free himself, sound wavering in and out until bile rose in his throat, choking him. It intensified, culminating in a tingling sensation which wrapped around his body like cramped muscles waking from an uncomfortable sleep, only instead of heralding a reawakening, it dulled his mind and dampened his resistance. "Blair," he called knowing if Sandburg could hear him he would come running. When nothing happened, he had no choice but to pull himself up, sitting on the edge of the bed until his stomach stopped flipping. The tingling increased, curling around him in invisible ropes, tugging him towards the door. Ellison's automatic responses kicked in, his throat swallowing in an effort to keep from vomiting, breathing swallow and fast. He placed a hand on the nightstand, gathered his strength and stood. Blood pounded in his ears but nothing obscured the compelling tone which had built as he slept. Some of the exhaustion abated, leaving a lightheadedness that made the room spin in time to the continual buzzing sound in his head but he could walk. 

He moved without thought, stumbling along at the will of whatever held him clutched tightly. The further away from Blair's bed he moved the more Jim felt like bits of himself were splintering off, leaving little more than a six year old boy huddled under a blanket. He no longer felt connected to the physical world, shreds of reality hung uselessly around him like paralyzed limbs. He couldn't feel his feet on the floor or furniture he fell against. The loft's front door appeared then faded behind him, Jim headed towards the source. His vision tunneled so that the once familiar hallway now stretched endlessly and misty tendrils unraveled from the walls like black fingers clutching his legs and sending him staggering. Another door halted his progress until clumsy fingers worked the knob. He recognized this room in a vague way, even half understood the shout of surprise which greeted his appearance. Someone moved to his side, a hand gripped his elbow but Jim staggered forward, almost falling over his own feet. He knew where he had to go, what waited for him. It was near, the prickle of hair on his nape would have told him if he'd not known before. 

~^~ 

Above, the window waited, glass glinting with the setting sun's light, closed now but not for long. 

~^~ 

One more barricade and Jim reached his goal. His body relaxed, giving up in the face of what had been his Destiny since birth. Ellison stumbled passed the immobile figure perched on the bed. He stood swaying a moment, staring at the vivid explosion of colors, the whirling strobe of light flickering on the TV screen. Driven by an inexplicable force, he headed to the window, raising it to lean out. Evening air cooled the sweat on his skin but below the concrete reflected the day's warmth, making the alley walls shimmer weirdly. The contrast of sensations freed some trapped part of Jim's mind, fog lifting enough to permit one image to stand clear - Blair. He couldn't ignore the tightness in his chest which spread cold tendrils up to his throat, he owed that kid so much - his life, his sanity, his heart. Blair had given and given and given, letting Jim take it all. Blair - his lover. Jim clutched that thought to his heart like gold. 

~^~ 

Having watched for two days, the figure was quite prepared when the window slid up, but not prepared at all for the form which leaned out. "Damn," though whispered with the barest breath, the head above turned, glazed eyes unseeing but finding. 

~^~ 

A small sound drew Ellison's gaze to the shadowed recess below. The chill he'd felt upon waking was nothing compared to the sensation which swept over him, shivers wracked his body until he could hardly stand. The sentinel heard as well as felt his heart skip a beat, victim of a massive adrenaline rush. It stood there, wrapped in layers of inky blackness, faceless yet staring. An unbearable wave of sorrow, icy cold sadness, swept over him making Blair's image gutter and fade, leaving Jim completely alone. 

~^~ 

A flicker of excitement stirred the interloper's heart. This prey was not the boy, not the payment the piper demanded, but something much, much better. 

~^~ 

"Come," the figure commanded. And Jim went. 

He dreamed, he dreamed he was underwater watching the world disappear in a wavering surge but maybe it wasn't a dream and the world was really fading away. Jim tried to hold on, fought in vain but it continued to dissolve and all he had left was an unbearable sense of loss. In time a voice found its way into his head, into his soul. It cracked across his will like a whip, leaving his freedom of choice in bloody tatters. Something guided his steps and a part of his mind identified a vehicle of some sort by the stench of gasoline and oil strong enough to make him gasp. The voice, iron hard and just as unbreakable, ordered him quiet. Jim struggled to obey, the other voice in his head, the one Blair had given form, took over. A moment later his sense of smell dialed down, allowing him to breath. Jim climbed into the vehicle, his bare feet ringing on the metal floor. "Down," the voice ordered and he rolled onto his side but Blair's voice didn't die away, it followed him, and began chipping away at his restraints. 

########### 

"What the hell is that?" Blair used his forefinger to push his glasses back into place. Looking over the rim hadn't offered any clearer perception, "are those - rats?" 

"Pocket Nightmares," Gunner Wolitski mumbled, almost to himself. He and two other TAs were hunkered around the small monitor staring intently as Wolitski battled a dozen or more yellow-furred creatures. Color erupted from the beast's eyes, flashing red and blue, its gaze cut a swath through the student's troops. Blair stepped back, the lights dazzling him for an instant before it all ended, dying away in a perky theme of Japanese rock-n- roll. Silence gave way to the three young men's excited babble. Blair looked over at Carolyn but her expression bordered on stupefaction. 

"At least we know what caused Jim to seize," he said. 

Carolyn blinked, grim determination filling her eyes. "I'll have one of my team run this down to video analysis." She drew out her cell phone, speaking the instant someone answered. 

"You guys know where this thing could have come from?" Blair asked the three coerced into helping. 

"Oh, yeah," Wolitski said with a grin. They were all grinning, nodding in agreement. "Satchmo!" 

()()()()()() 

"C.Z. Calloway," the woman said, offering a well manicured hand, "I'm kind of the unofficial Girl Friday around here." Corniche Games sat, as it's name implied, on the side of a cliff. A tiny company only two years earlier, it's annual earnings now made it one of Cascade's most successful businesses. Incongruities abounded, showing the growing pains had not ceased; a sparkling new building filled with slightly shabby furniture, the cool, professional woman sent to greet them looked as if she had been lifted straight out of a Fortune Five Hundred company, clashing wildly with the flannel and sneaker clad programmers wandering the halls. The one thing both Kevin Braithwaite and Jason Switzer's room had held in common was a single blank game cartridge. A blackmarket copy of an as yet unreleased video game from the Cascade based company. "Mr. Horn has instructed me to see you have our utmost cooperation." Calloway's brown eyes swung between Sandburg and Plummer, waiting for an explanation as to why this might be. 

"Well," Blair began, "we we're hoping to see Mr. Horn himself." 

Ms. Calloway smiled a well rehearsed smile, "Mr. Horn is a very busy man. I'm sure I can handle any......." 

"How 'bout a warrant? Can you handle a warrant?" Sandburg stepped close to her, using this invasion into her personal space to keep her off kilter. "We've got two missing kids, lady, and I don't have time to dick around." 

"I'll - I'll," she stuttered to a halt, obviously her training obviously hadn't covered what to do when the cops arrive in a foul mood. "Mr. Horn's office is this way." Pass the buck. She was learning quickly. Calloway led them to a large set of doors, knocked and then pushed them open. Expecting the typical businessman, Blair blinked in surprise when coming face to face with Sam Horn. The far end of middle aged, Horn never the less wore his graying hair long and tied back in a fashion similar to Blair's own "business" look. A dark henley shirt, chinos and boat shoes completed the picture of someone's uncle on the way to a picnic and not the CEO of a multi-million dollar company. Blair found himself wondering what Jim's father, William, would think of such an oddity walking into that last bastion of tradition in Cascade, the country club. 

"Mr. Horn, I'm Blair Sandburg with the Cascade Police Department," he flashed his ID with official ease. "This is Carolyn Plummer, Forensics Chief. I'm sure you've heard about the Braithwaite kidnapping. We're working with Detective James Ellison on that case. Could I ask you a few questions?" Invoking Jim's name got the desired effect, Horn's eyes grew wide with interest. 

"Of course, of course." Waving them to seats, Horn perched on the corner of his huge desk. 

"What can you tell me about Pocket Nightmares?" Horn frowned, confusion written clearly across his face. Blair forged ahead, not giving the man time to think before pressing the offensive, just the way Jim had instructed him so many times. "We found this at both kidnapped children's homes." He handed a game cartridge to the older man. "I took this to several experts and each of them told me it had all the earmarks of a Corniche Game; graphics, resolution, plot, style." Sandburg didn't bother explaining that his panel of experts were in reality three fellow TAs who spent every waking hour immersed in the world of video games. 

"I don't...." Horn turned the game cassette over in his hands, reached back and got his glasses off the desk and examined it closely. "Yes," he said at length, "yes, it is similar to ours." He pressed a button, sliding a monitor and game deck into view. After inserting the cartridge and watching a portion of the action, Horn pulled off his glasses and turned back to them. "What's the connection to these kidnappings? Surely you don't think we had anything..." 

"Right now we don't know what to think," Blair cut in. "We have two children missing, both had this game in their home. This game has certain characteristics not common in the average game - transparent light filming, I believe it's called. From what we understand it can induce epilepsy." Sandburg tapped the game, "this is not one of your products we can find currently for sale in any store, Mr. Horn. Is there someone who might have access and the ability to do this?" 

"Well, of course," Horn said with a shrug. "We have numerous people here able......," he stopped, something flickered in his eyes, something which looked like fear. Horn paled, "oh, no, he wouldn't." 

"Who wouldn't?" For the first time since entering, Carolyn spoke up. Blair watched her, transfixed by the solicitous manner in which she spoke. Moving over to the man, Carolyn laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Please, Mr. Horn. You make games for children, you must care about them." He nodded blindly. "If you know anything..." 

"Buddy," Horn whispered. "My nephew, Buddy Horn. He - he was angry I didn't promote him to head of R&D. He said he'd show me, Buddy said he'd make me sorry." 

Carolyn glanced over at Blair, her narrowed eyes asking a dozen questions, the biggest of which was should they believe him. Blair shrugged. It was a place to start. Twenty minutes later C.Z. Calloway had provided them with an address and even a grainy photo from the company picnic. "He's a shy kid," she explained. "I think I had to sneak up on him to get this picture and then he wasn't happy about it." 

"He has a temper?" Carolyn asked. The photo showed a white male, about twenty two, long hair, clothes too baggy and expression one notch this side of surly. 

She laughed, "temper? He's a genius, Ms. Plummer, they have their own set of standards. He was difficult especially after being denied R&D." She shrugged, "a person has to learn to take set-backs, it makes you stronger." 

Blair raised both eyebrows but hurriedly fished in his wallet. He pulled out one of Jim's cards, quickly jotted their home number and address onto the back and extended it to the woman. "If you think of anything else, I can be reached at both these numbers." Callaoway took the card, not bothering to read it before she pocketed it. 

"Sure thing, detective." 

Blair followed Carolyn to the car, climbed in and started it. A moment later he turned off the key and sat tapping one hand on the wheel. He ignored her odd look and let his mind travel the twisted paths it wanted. "Photosensitive epilepsy isn't uncommon," he mused, "but the video game maker couldn't have known if either child was susceptible." 

"So his purpose had to be something else," Carolyn guessed. "Subliminal manipulation? Repeated watching could have hypnotized those kids, they would have acted on any suggestion." She shrugged and looked over at him. 

"Jim had his seizure just a few seconds after I turned the video game on," Blair went on. 

"Like the Christmas light," Carolyn said almost to herself. 

"What?" 

"One Christmas," Carolyn frowned, "the only Christmas we spent as man and wife, Jim had this strange - reaction to the Christmas tree." Blair nodded for her to go on. "We all decorated the tree, light, tinsel, ornaments, the whole thing. When we plugged it in, everyone ooohed and aaahed over the blinking lights but Jim just stood there looking at it with a completely blank expression. I called his name, but he didn't move. No one noticed, we were all heading in for dinner but he still just stood rooted in front of the tree, staring at those blinking lights. I finally had to take his arm and lead him into dinner." 

"He didn't remember it afterwards?" Blair asked. 

"No, he didn't. We left shortly after because he wasn't feeling well." She looked at him, "you think this is the same." 

"Yeah," Blair started the car. "Let's check out this Buddy Horn's place." 

It took more than an hour to reach Buddy Horn's apartment. The address Calloway had given them proved to be old, and only by chance did they find a neighbor who remembered hearing he'd gotten a new place in a rundown building halfway across town. "No wonder he's resorting to extortion," Sandburg said. It was a seedy building, one of Cascade's square brick structures on the east side of town. The whole area had seen much better times, though here and there some optimistic soul had attempted a little revitalization. Horn's room could only be reached by a set of stairs next to the broken elevator. Blair climbed the grimy risers very aware of Carolyn at his back. How many times had he and Jim visited a duplicate of this scene, but always before he was the one trailing his partner, protected by years of Ellison's experience and shielded by his partner's boundless concern. The door to number 5D stood wide open, Blair could smell the familiar stench of death even before he got to it. Carolyn sucked in a choking breath, her hand gripping his arm for a brief moment. He nodded, and pulled out his cell phone as she stepped around him, latex gloves snapping into place. "Simon, I need a CS unit at 2513 Resnick Avenue, apartment 5D," he said quietly, "I think we've got a dead body." 

Closing the phone, he pulled on his own gloves, and went to join Carolyn. Buddy Horn was indeed dead - very dead. He lay on his back staring at the ceiling, blood formed a red cushion beneath his head courtesy, no doubt, of the small caliber hole between his eyes. "Powder burns," Carolyn said, pointing to the thin brown/gray smudge around the wound. Blair darted a quick look and went back to the least horrible thing he could find - the rest of the room. Horn had few possession but there were drawing pads everywhere. He sketched constantly it seemed; animals, fantasy characters, people. Blair flipped through several of them, seeing the prototype for his Pocket Nightmares and faces which looked vaguely familiar. Sandburg studied the sketches a moment longer before turning his attention to a stack of gamer magazines lying on an end table, one of them folded back to the ad section. Circled in red, was one curious advertisement - Win a free video! If you're between the ages of 10 and 15 you could win the latest action games. Just tell us in 25 words or less why you want to win. Include you name and address and you could be our winner! 

"Carolyn." Blair heard the Crime Scene Unit arrive and Carolyn direct them where to begin but he was already heading into the bedroom, looking for a computer. It sat on a rickety desk and when he clicked the mouse one of the offerings on his menu was email but the other was a client list. 

"What is this?" Carolyn peered over his shoulder, mesmerized as Blair tapped away at the keys. He hacked into Horn's email, reading three of the essays from kids all around the country. But when he got into the list of addresses, he froze. There it was - all the kids from the Cascade, Washington area who responded were there; names, ages, addresses. Blair scrolled down the list, it wasn't very long, five kids two of them being Jason Switzer and Kevin Braithwaite but Blair knew the last name on the list too - Ricky Beers, 852 Prospect, Apartment 205, Cascade, Washington. 

"Oh my god," Sandburg whispered. 

He could hear Carolyn's voice as he spun and ran, registered the shocked looks on faces all around as fled, but the one image in his mind was that of his partner. Blair threw himself behind the Volvo's wheel, charging into traffic with barely a thought for safety. He pulled his phone from his pocket and hit the speed dial. "Come on, Jim," he pleaded, "pick up, man." The phone continued its lonely ring until his own voice informed him no one could answer. Sandburg fought the shudder which threatened to overtake him, concentrating instead on how annoyed Jim would be when he burst into the apartment and found the sentinel taking a shower. But Ellison was not standing under the warm spray of water. 

When Blair reached Prospect a fist of dread squeezed his guts so tightly his heart shot into his throat. There was no outward sign of trouble but something in the air made him leap from his car and bolt up the stairs. Inside the atmosphere seemed charged with menace, disembodied voices echoed hollowly through the corridors, but Blair ignored it all, taking the stairs two at a time. When he reached the third floor and staggered breathlessly to 307 he knew what he would find. The loft's door stood wide open and coming to a complete stop on the threshold he whispered his partner's name. "Jim." Quiet as it had been, Blair heard it echo, dying away in the distance. His feet moved, carrying him to the deserted bedroom beneath the stairs but after that he was stranded, cast adrift and left to his own devices. 

"Mr. Sandburg!" Jackie Zheng from apartment 201 gripped his arm. Blair spun, gasping. "Mr. Sandburg, come quick. We need you downstairs." He followed Zheng back down to the chaotic scene he'd passed. 

"What's going on?" He demanded. In the midst of the confusion he glimpsed Connie Beers, mascara running in black rivers down her cheeks, clinging desperately to her son. Ricky looked up, the lost expression in his eyes so like that Jim had worn for days, now making Blair's heart skip a beat. "What happened here?" 

"We don't know," Connie wailed, clutching her child closer to her breast. "Ellison broke in here," she freed one hand, waving dramatically towards the shattered lock. "I thought he was going to kill us!" Her hysterical sobs set tongues wagging once more. But Blair noticed Ricky's silent gaze. 

"Ricky?" 

"He had to," the boy said quietly. Blair slipped closer, easing Ricky from his mother's grasp to stare into his clearing eyes. "The voice, it told us what to do." He pointed towards a back bedroom and, leaving all the noise behind, Blair made his way towards it. He found exactly what he expected, the TV on, an endless loop of action flickering across the screen, lights blinking. A window stood open and Blair swung himself over the casement and down the fire escape, landing in the dirty alley with a painful grunt. "Jim!" he screamed, but this time the gathering dark sent it echoing back to him with mocking glee. 

~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The strange underwater feeling continued, clearing at odd moments; a slit of cloudy sky, a line of trees, the bark of a dog, but still clouding his perceptions. Ellison could feel the darkness beside him, it kept pace, prodding him along when he slowed, distracted. Something thumped, echoing weirdly, then an acrid smell rose, a moldy laundry room scent which made his nose burn. That mundane odor broke open the black fist which had been closed over his senses. Jim blinked to clear his watery eyes, understanding for the first time in a long time that the phantom figure beside him was no more a ghostly manifestation than he was. Boot heels rang on the concrete floor beneath them, the black garment rustled and even smelled slightly of moth balls. Ellison tensed, and would have readily slammed a heavy fist into the thing but a faint sound caught his ear. 

Somewhere up ahead he could hear the blood curdling sobs of children. "Game over, Detective," the voice said with a ruthless growl. "I know how long the effects last, so don't try pretending." The blunt muzzle of a gun barrel momentarily jabbed his ribs. 

"Who the hell are you?" Ellison demanded. The sobbing faded, lost somewhere in warren of halls. He concentrated but couldn't pinpoint a location. 

"A concerned citizen." A metal door loomed before them. "Inside," the voice ordered. Jim obeyed, unwilling to risk being shot and of no use to the children. The room contained a chair, a nightmarish contraption which would have rivaled Old Sparky for sheer ability to inspire terror and a video camera and monitor. "Sit down." Again he complied, and an instant later his wrists and ankles were secured to the wooden frame. "Now comes the fun part." The masked and robed figure pulled a collection of wires from the back of the chair, affixing them to strategic points on Jim's torso. 

"I'm a cop," he said. "You do this to me and the whole force will be down on you." It had no effect on the figure. Wires were adhered to his forearms, each side of his neck, his chest, his thighs. Finally the black shape stepped back and, with a theatrical flourish, pulled off the hooded clock. Young, blond, and with an expression of smug satisfaction, the woman beamed at her captive. 

"Now we can play," she giggled. 

"I'm a cop," Jim repeated. "Is any of this getting through to you? Right now it's kidnapping, trust me you don't want to add anything else to the charges." She seemed to consider him a moment longer then reached over and snapped on the television, turned and left the room. Jim shuddered as a heavy bolt rammed home. "Shit," he said aloud. A picture appeared on the screen, a room almost identical to the one he was in but this one contained two small boys. They were clinging to one another, facing the woman who had just left him. A tinny voice echoed over the speaker. 

"It's another game," she said. "You love video games, remember?" One of the boys nodded and she grinned. "Here's what you do. See the man," she pointed to a TV, "he's evil, he wants to hurt you. You have to hurt him first. All you have to do, is move the joystick and press the fire button." Her hands danced over the deck and a searing jolt criss-cross Ellison's chest, freeing a shout of pain he could hear echoed from the screen. Gasping in another breath, he focused on the scene and heard her enthusiastic voice, "see? I got him good there. Now you try." She pressed the control into one set of small hands. Jim saw uncertainty flicker in the boy's eyes but she coaxed him on. "You get points for each time you hurt him and when you get enough points," she turned a beguiling smile on the two boys, "you get to go home!" Both children stirred, huddling together a moment before one of them carefully gripped the stick. Pain sliced the cop's nerves, skidding all the way down his back as one of the wires taped to his neck flared to life. He couldn't stop the scream which burst from his lips. "Good boy!" the woman encouraged. Jim held his breath, forcing himself to relax, forcing himself not to feel but the burning claws raking his body, mining his soul for hoarse yells of pain. 

He didn't know how long it went on, how much she needed him to suffer but eventually it stopped. Through the ringing in his ears he could hear her coming, and raised his head to meet her gaze as she entered the room. "You're a good opponent, Detective," she praised. "You've made it all the way up to the third level." 

"What the hell is this," Ellison whispered. His throat rebelled, his voice cracking like old leather but he forged on, '"what's this prove?" 

"Prove?" She honestly seemed taken aback by his ignorance. "It proves they're all killers. They inflicted pain on you because I asked them to." 

"Because you promised them freedom," Jim pointed out. 

"Because they're evil!" Spittle struck Ellison's cheek an instant before the pistol barrel. He could feel his skin tear, and the blood which gushed over his chin felt hot as molten lead as it dripped onto his chest. "You've seen them on the news," she screamed, "they kill for fun. They take guns into school and kill anyone they don't like! I know, I've seen it." 

"When? How?" Jim rasped. "Explain this to me." 

"Greg," she whispered, "my little brother Greg." She slumped, leaning against the wall as the weight of remembering were too much. "He taught history. He loved it, wanted to help kids understand the past so they could make a future." Her eyes lifted, meeting Jim's and he could see nothing but anger. "One of them shot him. They blew his fucking head half off!" The gun, smashed into Jim's chin this time, knocking his head back and making dark spots dance within his vision. Ellison felt himself sinking into something cold, and welcomed it, falling into the gathering silence. 

"Mister? Mister, wake up!" 

A wall towered over him, cliffs of black mourners around a single grave. "Mister, mister!" Insistent, unrelenting, and so very young, the voice drew his eye up to where light spread through the gloom. Jim shook himself, sensing a brittle quality to the inky wall and using only the strength of his will, fought to break free. With the voice urging him on, Jim's efforts soon proved successful. The blackness shattered, flying in a hundred directions like a flock of startled crows, leaving him blinking drowsily at a pinched and pale face very close to his own. 

"Is he dead?" A second voice piped up, asking with the morbid fascination all children were capable of. 

"No," the first responded, "just wigged I think." 

He lay on a mattress on the floor, one arm crumpled beneath him, feet on the bare concrete. Jim forced himself up on the one arm which would hold him, ignoring the way the room wheeled like seagulls at the beach. "Mister, you okay?" The voice belong to one of the boys he'd seen on the little TV. Dark hair tangled and unwashed, large brown eyes watched Jim's every move. He was close but not too close. 

"Yeah," Elliosn croaked and as the dizziness fade he realized he did feel better. "Kevin?" he asked the dark haired boy and received a surprised nod. A second boy stood behind Kevin, timidly peering at Jim with frightened blue eyes made puffy from crying. 

"That's Jason," Kevin said pointing. "He's really scared." After a moment Kevin looked to Jason, then back at Jim. "Are you going to help us?" 

Jim heard the rapid heartbeats increase saw the tension shake those two small bodies and knew he would do anything to help. "Yeah, I am." Before the echo of his words had died, Jim Ellison found his arms full. Black and blond heads knocked into his chin, a bony knee jabbed his thigh and the odor of unwashed bodies hit him like a fist, but he knew he wouldn't have traded their trusting embrace for the world. He held the boys tight to his chest, held on until their painful sobs died away to hiccups and wet sniffs. 

****** 

Simon Banks cast a look over his shoulder and on second thought dumped a spoonful of sugar into the coffee mug. "Here, Blair," he urged, nudging the silent figure slumped at the dining room table. He spoke gently, but Sandburg jumped as if poked with a hot iron. Wild blue eyes met his, darted towards the small bedroom and sank closed as if reality were too much to bear. The call of a disturbance at 852 Prospect had come shortly after Blair's request for a Crime Scene unit just as Banks was about to head there. He'd changed directions, heading for the well known address and arrived to find a crowd milling around a second floor apartment. Simon flashed his badge and got a disjointed rendition of what had happened, most of which seemed to implicate his star detective in breaking and entering as the least and attempted murder at the most. Shown the window from which Ellison had escaped, Banks stared in horrified fascination at Blair Sandburg standing absolutely motionless in the middle of the alley. He'd not uttered a word then or since, and docilely allowed himself to be led back inside and up to the loft he shared with Jim. 

"Blair, come on," Simon coaxed, "drink it." Sandburg stared a the mug for a second then accepted it. Banks watched a tremor pass over the younger man, threatening to spill the entire contents but Blair managed a sip or two. "We're doing all we can, Sandburg," Simon went one. A second Crime Scene unit had arrived at the loft and their voices reverberated around the place adding to the frenzied atmosphere. 

"Chief?" 

Sandburg whipped around, the cup in his hands shattering as it hit the table, a startled forensic tech took a step back. Acting Chief of Forensics, Serena Chang, looked nearly as startled and quickly lead the rookie away, her melodious voice advising against the department nickname in Sandburg's presence. "Blair?" Simon called gently. "I'm heading back to the station. I think you should stay here, we've tapped the phone in case there's a call." He received a half-hearted nod. 

They all left. It seemed in one instant the whirling activity vanished and he had only silence for company. Blair looked up, his gaze drawn from its intense scrutiny of the broken cup and drying coffee stain by the un-natural hush. A shudder passed over him, the place had never been this silent before, quiet yes, but never this empty lifeless stillness. What if Jim never came back? Sandburg jumped to his feet, circumventing the living room, touching all the things that made up their life. He ran his fingers over Jim's books, remembering his bemused surprise at finding crime novels, poetry books, nature guides and tomes of philosophy all mingled together. He picked up the CD his partner had been listening to last week, caressed the faces of photographs around the room, ran up the stairs and stood looking out over the loft. Jim was here, he could feel him. "He's coming back!" Sandburg shouted but that confident declaration rolled back over him with a mocking echo. "He is," Blair said much quieter. The stillness pressed closer, crowding him down the stairs to stand in the middle of the room. He finally snatched up the remote, and filled the room with canned laughter. When that didn't prove to be enough he hit play and a cool blues riff accompanied Kelsey Grammer's droll delivery of a punch line. 

Amid the noisy distraction Blair couldn't hear the silence, he didn't have to think about where Jim might be and what might be happening to him. He grabbed his laptop, opened it and settled down to do what he had always done when faced with a problem, research. He went online, accessing Corniche's homepage, and scrolling until he had a general history of the place. Nothing stood out until, jumping pages to company happenings he discovered photos of a company picnic. "Shit!" Sandburg hissed. His fingers danced over the keys, moving through the maze like links until he had exactly what he needed. He grabbed his coat and was sprinting down the hallway when Henri Brown popped out of the elevator heading towards the loft. 

"What's up?" the black detective asked. 

"Nothing, just a hunch, okay?" Brown didn't answer but Blair could watched his normally unconcerned features twist with apprehension. "I won't get into trouble, Henri. Promise." 

"Be careful, Blair," Brown advised. "You know Jim'll go crazy if you get yourself into trouble." Blair gave his a salute then hurried away, but, Brown's words hung in the air around him like clouds. Everyone saw Jim's need for him, Jim's dependence on him, but on one understood how much he needed Ellison. Even Jim couldn't see it. 

"Hang on, Jim," Blair whispered, "just hang on for me." 

******** 

"Violence!" Calloway shrieked. "I can save the world here." the phrase made Jim's stomach flip. He could remember saying the same words to Blair once when he, too, was caught in the grip of unrelenting emotions. His partner had come close to killing an entire garage full of police officers and Jim doubted Calloway would do any less given the chance. Only Jim's faith in Sandburg, the unshakable bond between them had averted the killing but he didn't have that with this woman. He needed to build something, close the gap between himself and her any way he could. Jim closed his eyes imaging Blair beside him, hearing his guide's voice inside his head. 

"How will this save the world?" He kept his voice level, expression open and curious. 

"Kids," Calloway spit, "kids like them. They play those games, they watch the movies, even their songs are full of hate and violence!" Jim looked at the two boys, their small hands were clasped together, eyes large and filled with fear. "They don't care about life. They go into schools and start shooting just because some bully calls them a name, or because they don't like a grade they got." Her gaze turned cunning. "But I know them, I can pick them out and rid the world of them." 

"The video game?" Jim guessed. 

"Yes! It's genius," she crowed. The gun in her hand swung back and forth between the boys and Jim. Ellison shifted, bringing her attention solely onto him. 

"How's it work?" He prodded. Jim knew from his training courses that every minute he kept her talking increased the odds of their rescue, but he could also see the unholy gleam in her eyes and wondered if there could be that much time in the world. 

"Oh, it's a secret," she whispered. "Buddy wanted to tell people, wanted to hold these brats hostage, but I didn't." Calloway grinned. "See, we planted a subliminal message in the tape. Any kid in the area who answered the ad got a game, then we watched them. If they appeared at the window we knew they played the game over and over. They were the ones we wanted." He gaze returned to the boys, rage blossomed across her face. "They're just like the ones who killed Greg. They stand there all cute and innocent, but after years of this shit they'll be just like the rest. I can stop the killing now, before another innocent person dies." 

"What about me?" Jim asked. "Am I like them? I'm a cop. I protect people." He moved closer, stopping only when the gun barrel was aimed directly at his chest. "Your game messed me up, it stopped me from doing my job." Calloway frowned, shaking her head. Her confident stance faltered leaving her shuffling uncertainly. 

"No," she shook her head, "no, the game only affects the ones who will kill." The gun swung again, "they're desensitized to violence, the don't value human life." 

"But you do, Greg did." 

"You leave him out of this!" Calloway screamed. "You don't know my brother. He's dead! They killed him!" 

"They're innocent," Jim insisted, "Greg would say the same thing, wouldn't he?" He knew the moment he said it that he'd pushed too far. The woman's rage exploded with a white hot howl. The gun in her hand echoed the scream, two shots ricocheting off the concrete floor. Jim dove for the boys, rolling them both into his arms, shielding them with his body. 

"You bastard!" He heard the hammer cock back, the clip jack another shell into position, her knuckle scrape the trigger guard. "You don't know what's happening in the world. You don't see the only way to stop it is to stop them!" Air whistled around the forged steel hammer, the firing pin falling straight for the primer. 

***** 

"Oh now, honey," the wizen woman said, shaking her head, "she moved last year. I think it was October, fall anyway." Sandburg sighed, still staring at the house across the street. Miguel Hernandez, the current owner of 1777 Caster Street hadn't been able to offer any information about the previous owners. But he'd pointed out Hester Lennex, the neighborhood busy-body and suggested asking her. 

"No idea where she might have gone?" Blair asked unenthusiastically. It had been a long shot, but he might as well see if she knew anything worth while. 

"Cheryl never really opened up," Hester confided. "She and that boyfriend of hers kept to themselves. I told Maggie, she lives over there at 1729, her husband died last year, so she's using his money to travel on. I told Maggie, they were up to no good, all those computers. I've seen their kind on America's Most Wanted. I phoned that John Walsh once but all I got was a recording. They should have real people not those......." 

"So you don't know where she went?" 

"Oh, no," Hester said with a shrug. 

"Okay, thanks." Blair turned, heading down the walk. 

"If I was her I would have moved into that aunt's little cottage," Hester called after him. Sandburg stopped. 

"Cottage?" 

"Why yes. Her aunt died about the time she left. I saw a letter from an attorney's office, mentioned it in passing," Hester said with a grin. "She said she'd been left a little house in Granville." 

"Granville." It was a suburb about twenty minutes away, filled with vacation homes and cutesy cottages. "Thanks, Mrs. Lennex!" Blair climbed into his car, seeing the old woman already on her way next door to spread the latest in gossip. He wondered how he and Jim would be portrayed in her little drama. 

Sandburg raced the Volvo across town, sticking to back roads in the industrial area, praying he wouldn't be stopped for speeding. Callaway, C. Z. or Cheryl Zepher Callaway. Her face played through his mind, "Stupid," he snapped, pounding one hand on the wheel. "I should have seen it." Too late he'd remembered the sketches lying in Buddy Horn's apartment, sketches of an attractive blond with a sly smile. Callaway had been Horn's lover, she'd worked on his game designs and she had to be the person who'd kidnapped two boys and Jim. Cell phone out, Blair took a corner at high speed, hoping against hope that they weren't too late. "Simon, I need an address for Cheryl Callaway in Granville. No, she might be the one we're looking for! Hurry, I'm already on my way." 

"Don't you go in there, Sandburg," Banks ordered. Even over the phone his thundering voice had an effect. "You wait for us, got it?" 

"Yeah, I got it." Blair slowed, pulling the green car to a halt on one of the streets defining the area known as Granville. "Where the hell are you, Jim?" he asked quietly. He cruised the streets for almost five minutes before the sound of sirens caught his attention. 

The cell phone rang, almost making him ram a parked car. "Sandburg! We're got a report of shots fired at 233 Collins, that's Callaway's address." Blair dropped the phone and spun the car. He'd passed Collins Avenue several streets back. 

"Pleas, please," he whispered under his breath, not sure who he was begging only knowing he plead for the nightmare to be over. 

***** 

The third shot dug a groove across his upper arm. Jim didn't even flinch, he shoved both boys under a table and rolled out as quickly as he could. She hadn't been expecting it. He hit her just below the knees, sweeping both feet out from under her. The woman landed with dull thud and a broken yelp. He rolled one more time, ramming his elbow into her mid- drift, taking personal satisfaction in the crack of ribs he could feel, the whoosh of breath from her lungs. The gun had skittered across the floor and Jim climbed to his feet, eyes scanning for it. He found it in Jason's trembling hand. "Hey, Jason," he coaxed, "come one. Let me have the gun." Cold eyes, blank, dead, looked back at him but the gun didn't lower. "Jason, it's over. I'll take you home. Your mom and dad are scared, they need to know you're okay, buddy." A small thumb pulled back the hammer, its click almost deafening in the still room. Ellison didn't breathe, didn't move, he watched so many emotions flicker across the child's face. Finally tears rose to the surface, trembling a moment before falling. 

He reached out, taking the gun from Jason. "You okay?" he asked. Two sets of eyes, both set in the faces of children, but no longer as innocent, held his. He scooped them into his arms, carrying the boys up the stairs to the sound of distant wails. "Looks like we're on our way home." Simon Banks' car led the procession, skidding to s stop with one fender touching the white picket fence which surrounded the house. But the figure sprinting towards him, face split in the widest grin ever seen on a human wasn't that of his boss, but that of his partner, his guide, the love of his life. 

"Jim!" Ellison set the kids on their feet and caught the whirlwind rushing into his arms. They staggered, clinging to each other as they laughed. "Jim, oh, man," Blair whispered against his neck. "I thought you were gone." Ellison closed his eyes, had it only been one day? It felt like years since he'd seen Blair, touched his skin. He wanted to kiss him, but over Sandburg's shoulder he saw Simon approaching, a huge grin on his face. 

"You okay, Jim?" Simon's dark eyes traveled over him, taking in the grungy state and the fact he wore only his undershirt and shorts. "Maybe you'd like to put something on?" 

"He looks great," Blair said. "why tamper with perfection." 

Ellison ducked his head, nudging his partner with an elbow. Connor and Rafe exited the house, Callaway slung between them, shouting, cursing, eyes rolling in her head. 

"You'll be sorry!" she shouted. "When they massacre your family, when they gun them down like dogs! You'll see this is the only way!" 

"I don't understand," Blair said, watching her hustled onto a stretcher and taken away. 

"She lost everything," Jim said softly. "Her brother was one of those people who try to make it better," his eyes caressed Sandburg, "and the darkness got him." He shook himself, almost pulling away from Blair's hand but the surprisingly powerful grip refused to let go. He looked down, looked into those blue eyes and saw only a reflection of a new day beginning. "Let's go home, Chief. My legs are a little chilly." 

"Can have people looking at those hairy legs, can we?" Sandburg teased. Banks watched them climb into Blair's car, beaming. 

***** 

Blair crept up the stairs, determined merely to feast his eyes upon his weary partner. They'd made it back to the loft and barely had time for Ellison to shower and put on clothes. Then they were back at the station, reports, statements, lawyers, it took hours and by seven P.M. Jim had been asleep on his feet, wanting only his bed. Moonlight dripped from the skylight high above Jim's bed, pale droplets bathed the sleeping sentinel, silvering his skin. He looked unearthly, a statue carved by some ancient master and set down into this age. Blair had never seen anything more beautiful, Jim's face, a mixture of moonlight and shadow, now seemed to have a softness about his lips, a vulnerability too rarely in evidence. As Blair watched Jim rolled over, one hand tucked beneath his cheek the other landing splayed on the mattress and in that instant, the need to touch, to prove that this was real and not some vision granted by cruel Fate, captured the young man's heart. He took a step, his weight shifting on the riser and Jim's eyes opened. Blair could not move, he stood silent, barely breathing as those eyes, washed nearly colorless by the pale light, devoured him. He watched as they warmed, filled with tenderness and desire, brimmed with faith and trust. His own eyes filled with tears and when a hand reached out beckoning him, Blair went. He sank into his lover's arms with a sob of pure happiness. 

"Make love to me, Chief," Jim whispered. The warm weight of Blair's body settled over his, comforting in a way he'd never known before. Jim's thoughts flashed back to all the times he'd pushed Blair down, shielding him with his own body. Had Sandburg felt this - this protective circle? Had that been the reason for the expression in his eyes, an expression Jim had always assumed was gratitude? Hands caressed his cheeks, thumbs feathering across his eyebrows as Blair gazed down into his eyes. Jim smiled, seeing so much in those indigo depths he never thought he would ever see. Sandburg kissed him, pushing into his mouth with a determination which set Elliosn on fire. He moaned, writhing as Blair moved his hands down, rubbing his shoulders then lower across his nipples. Those hardened nubs rose higher, straining for the attention of clever hands and lips. Jim spread his legs, raising his knees to cradle Blair between his thighs while his chest was worshipped. 

The spark between them, there from the first moment they had met, blazed like a firestorm. Jim tensed as his flanks received their share of attention just before Blair stroked a palm over his erection. The world spun crazily, up was down, down was up but through it all Blair held on to him. Jim flexed his knees, giving into the demand for more room, for the wide shoulders which slithered downward, for the arms which locked around his hips. He shouted as a hot mouth engulfed his cock, playfully sucking only to let go. Long curls tickled his stomach, his thighs, his shaft and each silken brush of hair felt like a hundred tiny hands zipping across his skin. The primal part of him, the sentinel, usually held in check surged free, allowing Jim to experience lovemaking at its fullest. 

None of his other lovers had touched this part of him. He'd held back, dialing down his senses to what he considered "normal" because the mechanics of sex; the slick squelch of sweaty skin on sweaty skin, the garlic flavored kisses, the high pitched squeaks of pleasure, all set his stomach churning the one and only time he'd tried opening up fully to a lover. Even at the mercy of his senses, rutting like a beast because of some natural attraction, the part of him that was still James Ellison had recoiled, disgusted by what he experienced. Since them he'd given into his natural inclination for celibacy but those days were over. 

Jim breathed in the scent of Sandburg's arousal, siphoned it down into his own lungs and huffed it out as a mixture of them both. His fists buried themselves into curls as his cock filled, hot and ready. He tensed as Blair took him even farther into his mouth, and in that instant exploded with mind numbing intensity. He soared into a world of color, flying high enough to look back down on the Earth below him. He felt his lover shift, the hard stroking of Sandburg's cock between their slick bellies. Jim filled his hands with warm flesh, molding his fingers around firm buttocks. Blair howled, a lupine cry of delight and hot semen jetted over his chest, splattering his chin. Struggling against the lassitude which wanted to consume him, Ellison pulled Blair up, tucking blankets up over their cooling bodies. Something flickered at the edge of his vision, an inky shape seemed poised near the top stair. 

"Umm," Blair murmured. "I think that was the single best moment of my life.....what's wrong?" Tense, Blair gazed up into his eyes, forcing Jim to abandon the shadow so near to hand. 

"I love you." Jim waited, willing the darkness of doubt to show its hideous face, to suck away the happiness he felt and tear him from Blair's embrace. He closed his eyes ready to fall into that void but even there in the place he feared most, the light of Blair's love shown as brightly as day. 

"Right back at you," Sandburg said, laughing. And when Jim looked again, the shadow was nothing more than a shadow and as the sun rose, it faded away. 

The End


End file.
